#i just do like stream of consciousness in cursive

[auro-cyanide]

I need to start journalling again, it's stupidly therapeutic

[fishfingersandscarves]

unsent - 1989

[Excerpt from an unsent letter found on Robert “Hob” Gadling’s shelf in the Library of the Dreaming]

Dear Stranger,

Funny.

You know, you’d think with all my years of writing letters and sending letters and burning letters I’d be better at writing them. Maybe I’m just too talkative for my own good. All these words get jumbled up in my head and stop just before they leak out of my pen; it’s easier to talk it out. Stream of consciousness and whatnot. I shall endeavor to do my best, but I’m no James Joyce.

Anyway, letters. I didn’t exchange letters with Eleanor, though I learnt them some twenty-odd years before we met. Ironic, nowadays, for a printer to be illiterate, but you know how it was in those days. I’m sure you’re well-read, you seem the type to love stories. Grand ones, probably. Myths and folksongs, and those crappy paperbacks that Summer lends me.

(We met in Lucerne. Cloud topped mountains, clear waters. Lots of cows and cats everywhere you look. There’s this lion relief that’s there, looks straight from those C.S. Lewis books. Anyway, we saw the lion, walked the bridge and ended up having a drink. She was on break and was working on her thesis on Gender Communication in Germany during the 1400’s and I was drinking my way through the rest of Europe. So it goes. She’s a good friend.)

Eleanor had wide handwriting. Probably wasted more coin on journals for her than I could afford, but it was worth it to watch her smile and worth it more to glimpse her doodling in the margins. I started copying her O’s, I think. A reminder.

Elspeth and I exchanged letters like currency. A last-ditch effort to resist the novel of the telephone on her part. She loved old things. (ha) But was so excited when we sat for a daguerreotype the very first time. As always, she was late to the trend, but I remember the moment afterwards, when everything had cured and the photographer had tilted the copper plate to catch the light and I could see us standing there, clear as a reflection in glass, all miniature and solemn. I kept it until I couldn’t anymore. Lost it on a sailing ship out from Bombay in 1912, I think. I remember it though. She had spidery print, like she was always pressed for time. She filled both sides and more every time she wrote me. Tried to learn shorthand to save time but she would get it all mixed in with her cursive instead. I swear it was like I was deciphering code at times! Her long spiking Y’s still follow my hand. It gets messy and I tend to smudge, as you no doubt can tell.

I don’t know if you know any of this already. You know everyone so… I suppose you probably know this all too.

Well.

Enough stalling I suppose.

I waited for you. Into the wee hours, until Martin, the bartender, clicked on the lights and told me to go home. Smoked a whole pack and then some out back afterwards, loitering by my car like some bloody dolt. I kept thinking, “Maybe this’ll be him.” Stupid, I know. I feel like a sucker. Some great idiot. Like this is all one cosmic joke. I know you’re not human, I’m no fool. You’re long-lived like me, that is certain. You were interested once. In my experience. In me. I wonder how long you can hold a grudge. Two hundred years? Three? I’ll wait for you. Of course I will. I shouldn’t have said what I did back then. I should’ve thought it through. But, here I am, talkative, stream of consciousness. All fancy words for someone who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. When not to push.

I should’ve just said it outright. That I’m lonely too. It gets hard and then it gets better. But it’s easier when we’re not alone. People need people. And who knows? Maybe you’re not people. But you’re my friend Maybe I’m not either, not anymore. And us not-people need to stick together. I would weather the loneliness with you if you’d have me.

I wish I could see you. I wish it wasn’t like this. Me, waiting and wanting. I want to see you. I want to know you. I want more of you, in every way.

I’ll be here, in 2089.

I promise.

I promise.

[Torn and crumbled, here, the letter ends]

now on AO3

[synthapostate]

WIP List Strikes Again

Because making lists helps my brain.

Resist Psychic Death - Possessed Newt. (Undergoing structural changes.)

The Tropes Nobody Asked For - A bodyswap AU. This would be complete if I could come up with a concluding paragraph to wrap things up.

I could be writing sweaty nerd sex like a normal person but no - Mostly a story about self-image. Angst. Fluff. There is no plot. Some kind of stream of consciousness BS. (Complete in the sense that anything can be complete given continuity of identity within linear flow of time.) It wasn't complete. Turns out I'm writing sweaty nerd sex but not like a normal person. Scrapped. Wtf I don't know. Maybe not everything needs to have a plot.

Heating Pad - A cat adopts Hermann.

Miserable, Lonely and Depressed (Pathetic) - The return of Cool Uncle Newt. (He's not cool, he's possessed.)

Vampire AU - I mean obviously I had to write a vampire AU at some point. (Comedy.)

Whump - Was supposed to be about a car accident, but it turned into emotional hurt/comfort. With pie.

Some Days You Just Can't Get Rid of a Bomb - Newt tries to solve capitalism. I don't think this is even going anywhere, but I like the title too much to let it go.

Retail Horror Stories - Newt and Hermann commiserate over the shitty jobs they worked when they were younger. (Maybe scrapped because honestly no one needs my nonfiction about MegaKaren.) Scrapped because people are gross.

The Graves Stood Tenantless - Comedy, it was SUPPOSED TO BE A COMEDY Death of a major character. 30k word novella about grief APPARENTLY. Still lacking final chapter and epilogue.

Nightmares - Ghost drift bleeds into their dreams. This would also be complete if I could come up with a concluding paragraph to wrap things up.

Cold as Ice - Hurt/Comfort? Something. Contains no hurt/comfort and has nothing to do with cold or ice, but...it's...something. A convergence of "whoever will take him" and (numbers) "will never betray me". Hurt people hurt people, but survivors can be kind.

Newt's Passion - A sex pollen fic. (No, it isn't.) (Zom com.)

Other, Funnier Ghost Story - Will it be a comedy this time? Let's find out. It is a comedy but it's about vampires now. OH GOD. Not a ghost story, not remotely funny. Vampires, full horror. I'm tempted to resurrect my old pen name for this one. (Y.A. Gorefest, Jr.)

Consent is Sexy - A team-building exercise leads to certain confessions that would not be made while sober.

Cold as Ice 2: Alaskan Boogaloo - Does have something to do with cold and ice.

The Worst Thing I Can Possibly Imagine - My genuine attempt to work through something, but then I thought of a punchline so now it's a funny little shitpost.

Splash - A...feelings thing. The first tentative steps toward getting along.

Caffeine Blues - I swore I would never write a coffee shop au, but...(One chapter to go. They were supposed to have a big fight in the final chapter, but they went ahead and did it early, so now I don't exactly know what happens. Also, it's no longer set in a coffee shop.)

Fields of Azure - Newt and Hermann are sent on an outdoorsy team-building retreat with some rangers (possibly by mistake) and both turn out to be full of surprises. Pure fluff.

Stop You Have Enough WIPs - Some silly fluff for these stressful times.

Shoes - Newt's past catches up with him. Hermann is intrigued.

Groundhog Day - Hey man, these sci fi tropes exist for a reason.

Turning Cursive Letters Into Knives - I swore I would never write a soulmate au, but...

Newt and Hermann Go On Six Dates - I write fluff now 😊💖

Hermann Gets Shot - It is so dangerous to start a fight in an elevator when one of the people you're fighting has a gun.

Return to Sender - Newt leaves Hong Kong to work for Shao. Angst. Uhhhhh I used that title for something else. What's another song about letters

Find Me in the Drift - Some very disorganized ramblings that might be a sequel to Dinner With a Friend.

The Curse of Gottlieb Manor - In which I actually try to write horror on purpose, and give myself the most intense nightmares I've had in years. I'm toning it down for the actual story.

Painting the Kitchen - About finding a future after the apocalypse is averted.

Total Eclipse of the Heart - Jake Pentecost doesn't trust Newt, decides to keep a close eye on him to guard Hermann's back, and accidentally ends up with two new dads.

Black and White Cookies - Birthday fluff.

A Kidnapping - Um...it's a kidnapping.

Wake Up, Dr. Jones! - More trauma. Possibly too much trauma actually. Scrap this why can't I type a question mark

Have a Cup of Cheer - So the truth is I hate Christmas, but this has been a year defined by my new willingness to embrace the things I was sure I would hate, starting in January with Pacific Rim. I haven't regretted it yet. So, to holly jolly hell with it, I'm writing Christmas fic.

Space Opera - When the first kaiju comes through the breach, Newt fires off a plea for help into deep space. There can't be just one alien race out there, right? Maybe some of them will be on our side.

Cherry Bomb - Apropos of nothing, Newt decides to bite the bullet and seduce Hermann.

Third Act Breakup - I also hate romcoms. Let's do this thing.

Sweet Siren Song - Newt is doing his biology thing in the Atlantic, Hermann is an inexperienced sailor who shouldn't be out alone on a day like this, they both get caught in a storm, turns out mermaids are real. (Romance.)

What's Your Angle - Turns out mermaids are real. (Horror.)

Etiquette and Protocol - Loosely based on a dream, the boys are forced to take an etiquette class because anger management isn't working. (Protip: if you encourage me to add something to my list, I probably will.)

Am I Blue - In which Newt learns how far Hermann is willing to go to save him.

Mr. Cellophane - Post-war, they go their separate ways, but when Newt is involved in an unlikely lab accident, obviously his first thought is to go to Hermann for help. Oh no, I just realized it would be funnier if they switched roles, DO I HAVE TO START THIS OVER FROM SCRATCH

Hanahaki - I never thought I would write a hanahaki fic, not because I hate the premise but simply because I had never heard of it until this year and it seemed too specific to intrude on. But when do I ever pass up the opportunity to gorge myself at the angst buffet

In Time - I could almost reuse the tag "Hermann Gottlieb bends all of time and space to his will for the man he loves," but this time it isn't on purpose and it's up to Newt to take charge of the situation.

Chuck Punches Hermann in the Face - He was aiming for Newt.

I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm - In which Newt owns a space heater, and Hermann does not.

Marriage of Convenience - Lars Gottlieb has a scheme, Hermann will do anything to get out of it, Newt is an agent of chaos, fake dating ensues.

Dream of Flying - I'm doing Secret Santa :]

[tenebriism]

Another season sparks another letter; the idle but warm hearted chatter of a delicate cerulean scrawl once again having found its way into the Khaenri’ahn’s presence. There’s far less purpose to it this time beyond an open stream of consciousness tinged with endearing eccentricity - but Jean feels better for having sent it, all the same. A note to let him know she is thinking of him. A note to remind him that someone still cares. 

Dear nameless breath stealer, 

Can you believe it’s been another three months already? The seasons seem to be passing more and more quickly this year, with Autumn already bringing changes in on the breeze. I always thought Mondstadt was very much a city for Springtime, but as the leaves change to shades of orange and brown I can’t help but think perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps next time you get a chance to steal away from your adventures, you’ll be able to walk with me and see it? I can’t promise I won’t be fully embracing my long forgotten youth and kicking my feet through piles of leaves, but I think you’d enjoy it. It’s peaceful and perhaps even homely. 

Not that I would dare to presume you need consider it a home of course! I know your roots lie in other places, but should you have need of a haven, at least for a little while, I like to think as a nation we might carry just enough charm to make it a pleasant stay. (And yes, dear knight, I am aware that every letter I send you sounds more and more like a tourist brochure for singing Mondstadt’s praises.)

I think I just want to show you so many things and share with you the snippets of mundanity that make me smile, it’s become a second nature now. The amount of times I’ll have walked past a shop window or seen a particularly nice flower and thought, ‘I know who would love this…’ is almost embarrassing to admit. Although these days, particularly now the nights are drawing in, it’s often more after dark that I find you once again in my thoughts. 

It’s definitely one of the perks of the Autumn season; knowing that the sky will drawn in a little bit earlier and the stars will once again twinkle to life. I still wholly stand by my belief you may well have fallen from those stars, but should the moon ever come looking for you, I’ll gladly throw hands to defend your honour, my starlight friend. 

And yes, alright, perhaps I am talking nonsense now. It’s been a long day, but sharing these odd little thoughts with you makes the distance that bit more tolerable. Although on the bright side, at least as the season changes lantern rite creeps ever closer. 

In another few months, we’ll be back in each other’s company and keeping our time honoured tradition alive. But until then, know that I…miss you. And I hope above all else, that you are happy, healthy and safe. 

Stay out of trouble, starshine, 

- J. x

The letter is somewhat STAINED, this time, and the handwriting quite MESSY in comparison to its writer's usual pretty cursive. Her letter finds him amidst a time he needs it MOST, and whether or not SHE knew that, or the gods are playing the game of MERCY with him again, he shan't take a blessing for granted. Perhaps he could have waited until he isn't struggling with himself so the letter could be completely legible, but reading her letter, and swiftly sitting down to RESPOND to it, means he may bask in the feelings and emotions she grants him with ease even longer.

The happiness may be shortlived, but he will cling to it, as he always does.

[ su nshine in dark ti mes ,

im sorry if this letter is a strug gle to deciph er. i fair les s th an well at p resent. do n o t worry , this wil l not kee p me fr om seein g you at the lant ern r i te. of that, iam cert ai n and pr omis e you.

The love and admiration you house for your nation is a pleasant comfort; in that regard, we are very similar. The times I have found myself in or around Mondstadt, I have always felt a sense of home and belonging. Perhaps it is because I know you are there, working tirelessly to ensure it continues to feel that way for both myself and the others who both live and travel there. Regardless, I can say for sure that, of all the nations I have visited, Mondstadt is the one that seems to care for its people the most.

Were I to ever settle down, unlikely though it may be, I am confident Mondstadt would be in my favored choices to do so.

My travels have taken me far from your wind-embraced home, but there is beauty in knowing we are gazing up at the same sky every night. It makes me feel like the distance betwixt us is not so heartbreakingly massive, even if the sun may banish the feeling come morning time.

That you would compare me to starlight is strange, but not unwelcomed. I have certainly fallen, yes, but not from the stars. I have fallen in a great many ways. If I am, indeed, some sort of fallen star, however, then it is befitting that you are the sun. The stars are always out, and whilst we cannot see them during the day, they are there. I like to think they find peace and respite when the sun comes up. A chance to have a break, to bask in the beauties and purities of the sun.

Then, nighttime falls and the sun retreats, bringing darkness and loneliness as the moon then rises to take its place. There, the stars shine again. I used to think I preferred the latter hours of the night, when all is quiet and I may exist undisturbed, though I am starting to enjoy the sun, too. It is blinding and powerful, but beneath it, I find peace. I can merely . . . be. ]

There is a tear beneath this section, where the force of his unsteady hand has ripped the paper. With how ABRUPTLY the letter then proceeds to end, 'tis evident he'd been afraid of tearing it entirely. He needed SOMETHING to send back to her. Something intact, something to let her know she hadn't been forgotten, and that she, too, was missed.

[ i mi ss y ou too. re m em ber to tak e car e of you rsel f, s unsh ine.

~ D . ]

@gunnhildred ;;

[hahafucksewingmachines]

My diary entry from June 23, 2020 (folklore's release)

I go back and reread this entry so often and I think its kinda funny, so I'm sharing it. It's basically a stream of conciousness through watching the cardigan mv premiere and listening to the album for the first time.

July 23/20 TAYLOR ANNOUNCED SHE HAS A NEW ALBUM folklore IS COMING. AT MIDNIGHT! TONIGHT (yes i did write folklore in lowercase cursive while everything else was handwritten caps- also incorrect grammar from excitement)

It's out at midnight easter so 10pm for me- which is in fifteen minutes! Mom woke me up at like 6:45am to tell me to look at Taylor's instagram. I bit the bullet and ordered from her store- braving the international shipping costs. I got the new cardigan- which was made for me basically, and the "in the weeds" cover of the album (they didn't come in until September btw)

THIRTEEN minutes now. She's releasing the music video for cardigan too, so I'm gonna watch it first and then listen to the album. Ok. I'm going to write my stream of consciousness while watching the video and listening to the album. Just finishing this episode of Glee and waiting... LESS THAN A MINUTE! THE STUPID FUCKING YOUTUBE PREMIERE COUNTDOWN I HATE IT HERE!!! Still not up on iTunes, LESS THAN A MINUTE FOR REAL. WILL START ON THE NEXT PAGE. i'm writing like a kindergartener.

10...

Old piano keys. pretty. SAFE AND SOUND VIBeS: ANTIQUES. GLITTER! CLIMBING IN THE PIANO! FOREST! MOSS! MOSS PIANO! THE WATER! PIANO IS A CENTRAL THEME PIECE! The piano says folklore! Back in the antique cottage. THE CARDIGAN I ORDERED! Beautiful MV. Reminds me of OOTW. Barely paid attention to the lyrics. It's still not on iTunes??? Checking spotify now. 1:03 run time for the album. HERE WE GO! wait she posted the foreword.

THE 1: simple piano chords, SOFT! "SHIT!" vibing with it. roaring 20s. "it would have been you..." "if you would've been the 1" this is hitting hard. reminding me of [redacted] she's putting my previous entries into words. digging up the grave another time.

CARDIGAN: vintage tea? "when you are young they assume you know nothing" heartbeat on the high line once in twenty life times. Peter losing Wendy. a tattooed kiss. I knew i'd curse you for the longest time. Standing in my front porch light. you'd come back to me...

THE LAST GREAT AMERICAN DYNASTY (EXPLICIT!): trains. St. Louis. Only so far new money goes. Kennedys? She had a marvelous time ruining everything. Rhode Island. BITCH! TIWWCHNT champagne sea vibes/reference. midnight sea. Her Rhode Island house? The last woman who lived there? EXILE: he's singing first. I think I've seen this film before. Reminding me of the last time. I'm not your problem anymore so who am I offending now? There's no amount of crying I can do for you. Never learned to read your mind. I gave so many signs. 10/10 vocals and harmony

MY TEARS RICOCHET: TRACK FIVE! first an ad... INTHAF oohs/choir feeling. if i'm on fire you'll be made of ashes too. I swear I'd love you til my dying day. cursing my name. is she dead? AS YOU BURY ME. I didn't have it in myself to go with grace. hauntingly beautiful. you had to kill me but it killed you just the same. was she murdered? what?!

MIRRORBALL: my dear... on my tallest tiptoes in my highest heels, shining just for you. the mirror ball, i can change everything. love the instrumentals. the end is near, but i'm still on my tallest tiptoes. i'm still on that tight rope. I'm still a believer but I don't know why. TRYING. keep you looking at me. I'm a mirror ball

SEVEN (track seven too): picture me in the trees. are there still beautiful things? Love to the moon and Saturn. Strings! I think your house is haunted. I still got love for you.

AUGUST (track 8- 8th month): whispers of are you sure. lost in the memory. twisting the bedsheets hm? wanting was enough. cancelled plans in case you'd call. summer love. 'cause you were never mine. for the hope of it all. BRIDGE REPETITION. more strings! sad but beautiful. this album feels like a summer day in a field.

THIS IS ME TRYING: guitar yes soft. stop! like AYHTDWS stay! and it dies a million little times. him! high! a drug that only worked the first few hundred times. look at this godforsaken mess that you made me- BRIDGE! idiotic fool, v country sounding

INVISIBLE STRING: plucky strings. centennial park. green. teal. first trip to L.A. lunch down by the lakes. cutting me up and healing me fine. mistakes in barbed wire. single thread of gold tied me to you. hell was the journey but it brought me heaven.

MAD WOMAN (EXPLICIT): yes more piano! they strike to kill and you know i will. FUCK! SHE SAID THE FUCK WORD! no one likes a mad woman, you made her like that. taking my time cuz you took everything. Babe different POV?

EPIPHANY: another fucking ad... dreamy, choral sounding. VOCALS! he's bleeding out? someone's daughter someone's mother. DYING? rip. sad. not dreamy anymore/ beautiful song.

BETTY (explicit, almost 5 min): v country, harmonica, Mary's Song-ish. FUCK! AGAIN! singing about the mad woman? FUCK! giving me unreleased/debut vibes. his name is James? SO nostalgic feeling/sounding. I can see her curls and cowboy boots and fake accent. in her cardigan! possibly my fave so far.

PEACE (explicit): just around the corner darling, cause it lives in me, no i could never give you peace. v visual/descriptive scene. would that be enough? SHIT! CLOWNS TO THE WEST! me.

HOAX (last track, don't have the lakes yet): one last fucking ad... my only one, my smoking gun. ECLIPSE TS6. give me a reason, on a cliff side?? ash from your fire. faithless love? left a part of me back in New York. my only 1. you have beaten my heart.

I LOVED IT! THE STORY TELLING! STRIPPED DOWN! REMINDS ME OF DEBUT AND SPEAK NOW. WILL LISTEN 1000000000 MORE TIMES

[janekfan]

for the bingo prompts could i request 'unexpected trigger' for martin? you don't grow up in a home like he did without occasionally unlocking repressed memories.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963869

Here we go!

Shake it off. You’re alright. Nothing you haven’t dealt with before. You made it through then! You’ll make it through now!

Martin let his consciousness stream with all the tricks and coping mechanisms he’d ever picked up from his brief time spent in various support groups with their stale biscuits and cold, bitter tea. It had been a bad morning, his mum’s cross mood from the night before carried over into the early hours and Martin got very little sleep. He’d made her a rubbish breakfast that she tossed in the bin before slamming her mug into the floor--

And it was.

Fine.

Everything was fine because he would make it be fine.

He’d do his job and make Tim and Sasha and Jon tea that would be appreciated and they would smile, well Jon wouldn’t but he would find an empty cup an hour later and that was almost as good, and the others would thank him. Martin was good at taking care of people. It’s what he did best and he couldn’t let one bad day ruin that for his friends no matter how brittle his nerves were.

“Oi, Marto.” Apparently he hadn’t schooled his expression as well as he thought. “You alright?” The concern put him on edge, the soft tone a niggling itch in the back of his mind and filling his stomach with a churning unease. Flee. Run. Escape. Nothing good ever came of being burdened by him.

So he laughed lightly, hitching his messenger bag a little higher, subconsciously placing it between them. A barrier. Ridiculous. Like Tim would ever--

“Martin?” The hand on his shoulder wasn’t unwarranted and he barely contained the flinch. Wouldn’t do for Tim to notice how his worry, his kindness was clouding his reality, every inch of Martin’s skin screaming for contact and isolation both. He shook his head to clear it.

“Sorry, Tim. Didn’t get much sleep.” He offered up a hollow smile, knowing it wasn’t enough to fool him, praying it was enough to get him to drop it because all he wanted to do, needed to do, was get away.

“Okay, well. Lemme know if you wanna skive off.” Lopsided, his grin didn’t seem real and Martin couldn’t stop himself from reading into it. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks Tim.” Exhaled on a stagnant breath and finally allowed to retreat, Martin tried in vain to slow his racing pulse, burying himself in his translation.

He waited patiently as Jon flipped through his pages, brow creased in the familiar way that meant he was about to be scolded. Martin knew it wasn’t his best, far too distracted by Tim and Sasha’s questioning looks to truly focus. Jon was quiet. Pensive. Fastidiously tapping the papers together and clasping them together with a binder clip; something Martin forgot to do. Any moment now. Meticulous, Jon set the packet aside, on one of the many piles he had to sort through. Piercing, his brown eyes met his own over the rim of his glasses.

“Your work rarely contains this many errors, Martin.”

Jon might as well have struck him, the calm, calculated words so much like a physical blow, and salt flooded his tongue, filling his mouth with a handful of coins like copper choking him, choking him, choking him. It wasn’t right. Jon wore his everything on his sleeve. Easy to trust, to read, predictable. He was supposed to yell. Speak harshly and honestly and just on the edge of too mean.

“Martin?” There was that concern again, soft and false and sounding a warning so deep in his veins he couldn’t ignore it, rabbiting heart squeezing hot blood through his body and urging him to disappear. “Are, are you alright?” He was coming around the desk, the barricade between them smaller, smaller, smaller, no longer there as Jon stood with some distance between them, arm held out, reaching, but hesitating, face twisted up in fear(?).

“I’m sorry. Yes. Of course, I’ll fix those files for you.” He was crying, not even trying to stop because he was suddenly in the room with his mother of all people and she didn’t care if he was upset. Only cared if the job was done so he’d do it. He’d do it. And she would love him and mechanically he felt himself move as if someone else was pulling his strings and it was easier to let it happen.

“M’Martin, wait.” There was a hand on his arm, tentative and light and Martin looked up into Jon’s concerned face, snapping suddenly back into the reality of the Archives and catching himself in time to not shrug away. The touch was barely there, easy to remove, not grabbing, gripping, grasping his clothes and hauling him towards-- “Take a moment, here, here, sit down. Catch your breath.” Guided, not dragged, to Jon’s chair, still warm, grounding, and from seemingly nowhere, Jon produced a handkerchief, passing it to Martin and letting their fingers touch just slightly. “There now, alright.” Fingertips ghosted between his shoulder blades and he tipped forward under their silent suggestion, burying his flushed face in the clean cotton, drawing inwards enough that he only heard Jon come back from wherever he’d gone. The door was closed, the shade drawn, the lamp turned low, and the desk between them again as Jon worked on the other side of the desk. Martin groaned, chest aching when he straightened up.

“Martin?” Firm. Not demanding, but not leaving much room to stay silent and he appreciated it more than words could explain.

“I don’t. Jon.” He waved away his words and the knotted tangle of anxiety began to loosen.

“No need to apologize.” Their eyes met and Martin saw understanding reflected back. He could explain or not. There was a choice, but no pressure and the next breath came easier. “Now. I’ve marked the passages that don’t make sense. I’d like this back first thing tomorrow morning, if that’s agreeable, Martin.”

“‘Course, Jon. First thing.” He accepted the bundle with Jon’s neat cursive blue in the margins and stood, shaky but no longer overcome with the desire to run as far and as fast as his legs could take him. “I’ll be around with tea in a bit.” Jon had gone back to his work but he nodded.

“Thank you, Martin.” The scritch of his pen didn’t slow and Martin let himself out, closing the door behind him.

Jon’s handkerchief still clutched tightly in his hand.

[bottleofspilledink]

God's Watching, Put on a Show || Chapter VIII

"Lilith..." She whined, voice strained as she panted harshly, breathing ragged and pulse erratic.

Her legs were spread as wide as she could manage, her every muscle taut and straining as sweat formed atop her brow, sweat-slick hands clutching Lilith's forearms for dear life.

"Just a bit longer, Eve," Lilith said, trying to comfort her, though the girl's small, sharp exhales were not lost on her. "Hold on."

All she could do was moan, the constant shifting of Lilith's legs making her back arch, looking more and more like a bow with each passing moment.

Earlier, when the fatigue had yet to creep into her bones, Eve would have gawked at Lilith's hold on her, marveling at her hands and their warmth and each accidental swipe of her fingers.

Now, while the novelty had yet to fade (Eve feared it never would, that Lilith's touch would never fail to elicit a some sort of reaction, be it a mere blush of the quickening of her pulse.), it was certainly dulled by her aching muscles and tired limbs.

"'Mm tired." Her words came out pitchy, nearly cracking at the end.

Just how long had the been doing this?

Eve didn't know, nor did she have the strength to search her mind for the answer.

"I-" As hard as she tried, Eve could hardly get enough air in her lungs to speak, her position making it all the more difficult. "I can't..."

"Almost done, Eve," She gasped, mouth agape as exhaustion began to weigh on her as well, though she longed to finish this despite it.

Lilith's arms would have slipped from her grasp long ago had she not held onto Eve as tightly as Eve did to her.

"A-almost..."

"And up!" Sister Eunice shouted by the side of the gym, barely having moved an inch while the girls she was supposed to be teaching simply referenced the diagram in order to understand what ungodly formation they were to contort their bodies into this week.

Eve smiled and immediately pulled all her limbs closer to her, sore and in need of-

"That's all for today, girls. Everyone into the showers!"

Her relief was short lived.

...

With everything that had taken place earlier in the day, Eve had forgotten what was ultimately the worst part of gym.

The shower.

The curtain-less shower with no stalls she would have to share with Lilith.

Lilith would be able to see her.

She would be able to see Lilith.

Why, she asked herself, was she more worried about the second rather than the first?

For once though, Eve managed to push her thoughts aside and entered the locker room regardless of them.

...

"Okay," Lilith said to herself, mind racing to come up with ways in which she could avoid seeing Eve in the shower without making it blatantly obvious she was trying to do it.

"Just keep your head down, get in, get out."

With that said, she got out of her clothes, wrapped a towel around her, and got in line... unaware that Eve was trailing behind her, effectively putting them beside each other.

...

Eve was against swearing, be it written or spoken, in print or in cursive, in the form of crude graffiti or an eloquent story.

Right now, however, it seemed justified.

"What the actual FUCK was I thinking?"

Eve had followed Lilith in, watched as she took of her uniform, walking along side her as she got in line, consciously making the decision to stick as close to her as possible.

And now, through every fault of her own, she was next to Lilith, both of them as naked as the day they were born, lukewarm water beating down on them, putting herself into the very situation she wanted to avoid.

Why?

Eve didn't even know.

Or maybe, she did know what compelled her to do all this.

But that answer might have scared her too much to admit that it even existed, pushing it to the very recesses of her mind to avoid facing the answer and the barrel of sin that came with it.

The answers didn't matter now, however, because as much as she tried to analyze what led her here, she couldn't turn back time and stop this from ever happening.

Every sensation was heightened, body feeling even stiffer than earlier. She tried to focus her mind on anything other than the girl beside her, the sound of water hitting the tile floor, the varying scents of soaps and bodywashes in the air, bubbles going down the drain, the weight of the soap in her palm.

And yet, despite all that surrounded her, Eve still found her eyes straying to Lilith.

Lilith looked like the embodiment of desire itself, body slick and her wet, fiery hair sticking to her back as she moved about.

Eve knew she shouldn't look at Lilith, not the way she was looking.

But she did anyway.

Her amber eyes went up from Lilith's calves, small marks and scars peppering the skin every so often, to her toned thighs, flexing ever so lightly as she washed, to her bony hips that barely flared from her waist.

Eve's eyes ventured ever higher, to Lilith's stomach and a long, raised scar that ran up her side, following the trail the girl's soap bar left all the way to her plump, pillowy breasts...

Her gaze lingered there for longer til she ripped her eyes away, instead shifting to Lilith's collarbone and the little dips alongside it, before finally settling on her face, the very face that had been so close to her own just days ago.

The memory played over and over in her mind, vivid yet hazy at the edges like a washed out photograph.

She was pulled from her thoughts however, when Lilith had noticed her stare, locking eyes for a horrifying millisecond before the girl raised a sharp brow at her, Eve immediately looking away, shame pooling in her stomach and a blotchy blush making it's way onto her face.

Though it was too late by then, the image of Lilith's nakedness burned into her mind's eye and appearing in short bursts with every blink.

Try as she might to scrub the feeling of filthiness off her, she wouldn't be able to rid herself of it.

Not now.

Not today.

So she simply stood under the stream of water, making it colder all the while.

...

When Eve stepped out of the shower, she got dressed briskly, hoping to avoid any confrontation with Lilith.

"Where are you going?"

That hope was dashed quite quickly.

"I was going to go to the library..." She mumbled, fiddling with her hair, eyes glued to the floor like they should have been earlier.

Lilith huffed, a mix of amusement and exasperation, "Look, I know that adjusting to all of this is hard, but I'm gonna need you to be more considerate."

She took her book bag out from the locker, slamming the door shut as she did so, noise of the metal hitting it's frame and the lock clicking into place making Eve flinch.

"It's me that'll end up taking the heat if I'm caught without you."

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking." She hung her head, a layer of dejection adding onto the already pre-existing feeling of shame.

"It's fine. I caught you in time, so no harm, no foul!" Lilith shrugged, catching up to Eve who was already at the locker room exit.

"Can we maybe work out a timetable of when we go to lunch and when we go to the library, though? I get hungry after gym and I'm pretty sure they're serving mac and cheese today."

"Yeah, of course." Eve grinned, thankful that when hadn't brought up what had happened earlier.

She'd take whatever chance she was given to make up for her ever rising list of sins against the girl.

...

"Dude, over here!" Joan called, right arm flailing in the air in what could barely be counted as a wave. The brunette's left hand was under the table, more likely than not holding Paula's, who sat next to her as usual.

"Are you fine sitting with my friends?" Lilith appeared to ask Eve.

In truth, however, she was asking Eve something else entirely, something far more important than the blonde's comfort: "Are my friends going to be safe if you sit with us?"

"I can tell them that you want to sit somewhere else if you don't wanna sit with them."

Eve smiled at her, whether it wad in answer to the obvious yet unspoken question or a mere nod to the first entirely unclear to her, "I don't mind! Me and my friends don't even share the same lunch block, so I'm not exactly dying to sit with anyone else."

"Okay then."

They made their way to the table, Joan's enthusiastic waving halted the moment she saw who Lilith was with.

"Hello!" Eve said, taking a seat. "I'm Eve, Lilith's partner, it's a pleasure to meet the both of you."

When Lilith heard Eve's cheery voice and saw her dazzling smile, however, whether Eve understood the question or not was unimportant.

They were safe.

Joan's green eyes met Paula's brown ones, a near potent hostility and mutual understanding passing between them.

Rest assured, they knew who Eve was.

Lilith had told them everything that had happened, every word she said, every little detail she could remember about Eve as she cried, usually striking eyes already cloudy and dull with tears before she had even spoke, hands firmly around the bottleneck of the cheap whiskey they put their money to buy.

Nevertheless, they smiled and shook her hand. They couldn't afford to be rude, especially with their own "partners" sitting not too far from them, watching, waiting for the slightest slip up to report.

"Joan." She said, grin stiff, grip firmer than what was appropriate. "Nice to meet you too."

Paula flashed her winning smile, nodding as she shook hands with Eve, tight curls bobbing a bit as she did so, "I'm Paula! It's nice to finally meet you."

Her dark hands squeezed the other girl's, the chipper voice she had used to greet Eve vanishing for a moment when she spoke again.

"We've heard so much about you."

Before Paula could continue however, Lilith cut her off. "Where's Julia? I thought we had the same lunchblock."

"Her partner wanted to sit somewhere else," Joan answered, taking a bite of her mac and cheese and going along with her friend. As much as she didn't like Eve, she knew that they wouldn't get anything by starting trouble. "She's still negotiating when they sit with us and when they sit with the girl's friends."

Lilith sighed, thankful she had been able to diffuse the situation before it even escalated.

She never thought she'd be the person trying to keep the peace, (That was usually Paula's job.) but here she was.

All Lilith had to do was stop a fight from breaking out for forty-five minutes.

That was manageable, right?

Just make small talk and keep a fight from breaking out.

"Think she'll be here tomorrow?"

...

As Eve listened to Paula complain about the packed school bus and Joan mention an upcoming test she had to study for, she couldn't help but realize that these girls were so... human.

She knew that, of course, they were made of flesh and blood like her, but that fact was only a vague, meaningless truth in the back of her mind.

For now, not only did she recognize the undeniable statement that they were human, Eve saw them as normal.

These girls were just like her, or Mary, or Elizabeth. They had exams and pets, subjects they liked, subjects they didn't like, part-time jobs.

They had average, mundane lives outside of being...

Eve could feel her head pound, dizzy and aching as if a rug had been pulled out from underneath her and she had hit her head the moment it did.

The realization that these girls were human became more factual as they continued to talk amongst themselves, offering to help with homework, hoping that their friend, who had been separated from them, was doing okay, sharing tater tots with one another.

These girls, who had been demonized by her friends and the church alike, were kind, caring, and generous.

Eve sat there in stunned silence, epiphany after epiphany crashing into her mind in quick succession, hardly giving her the time to process the opposing statements before her.

At it's core however, she only had to decide between two things.

Either the church was right and these girls were evil and sick and unnatural, or she had been lied to practically her entire life by the people she loved and the institution she trusted and the God she believed in.

Eve could feel her eyes sting and well up, her hands went numb and shaky, felt lungs shrink, windpipe tightening, she couldn't breath, bile rising in her throat as she began heaving, desperate for air.

She had to get up before she-

Bleugh!

Eve puked all over the table, retching and heaving til only spit and stomach acid spilled from her mouth, tears streaming down her face, the numbness of her hands slowly spreading through her.

She vaguely registered a hand holding her hair away from her face and gently patting her back, ushering her from the table and to the nearest bathroom, Lilith most probably.

The bright, florescent lighting of the restrooms made her head throb again as sbe guided to the sink carefully, stumbling the whole way over.

"If you have anything left in you, I suggest you let it out here." Paula said, voice soft and soothing, devoid of any previous hostility.

"What?" Eve whipped her head around to face Paula, immediately regretting it when her headache started up again with a vengeance. "I thought- Where's Lilith?"

"Christ, you're really out of it, huh."

Paula shot Joan a fierce look, effectively shutting her up, "Don't mind her. Lilith left to tell your next class that you'll be a bit late or might not show up."

"Let's get you cleaned up, okay hun?" She pulled a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and ran it under the tap, dabbing at the corners of Eve's mouth.

"I don't understand..." The blonde slurred, amber eyes growing cloudy once more as tears gathered behind them. "You're so nice. Why?"

Eve felt as if she had gone mad. And maybe she was, just a bit, panicked and jittery and hysterical as everything she had ever known was crumbling beneath the weight of these girl's kindness.

"You're not supposed to be nice!" She swatted Paula's hand away, crying angry, confused tears.

"They all told me people like you are evil! Be evil!" Eve grabbed Paula by the shoulders, shaking her, clutching at her, begging, "Hurt me! Fucking hurt me already!"

The two of them looked at her, stunned, before Paula broke the silence. "Get the gum and water bottle from my bag. She'll need it later."

"Are you-"

"Yes."

Joan left, reluctantly stopping at the door for a brief second before ultimately deciding to leave.

By then, Eve had broken down completely, having slid onto her knees, the gaps in the tile floor digging into the flesh as she leaned her head against the sink, long, curtain-like hair covering her face.

"Nothing makes sense anymore," She hiccuped, fingers tangling themselves in the rosary around her neck.

Maybe, just maybe, if she could embed them in her hands, squeeze the beads under her fingernails, then everything she did would be holy and God would guide her once more, erasing all the doubt and filth that polluted her mind.

"Please..."

Eve didn't even know what she was asking for. But she'd say it again.

"Please!"

Before she could scream again, Paula came up from behind her, pulling her hair away from her face, taking her fingers from her rosary, shushing her and stroking her hair til her violent sobs were mere occasional jolts.

"Tell me why you're crying." The girl's voice was empathetic yet firm, leaving no room for argument or refusal.

"Because you're nice. You're so nice, even though you're- you're all- all of you are..."

Eve had worked herself up again, unable to even think about the matter at hand without going into hysterics.

"We're what, Eve?"

The blonde shook her head, not wanting to continue.

"Come on, you can tell me." Paula tucked a lock of hair behind Eve's ear, opening her handkerchief more so she could wipe Eve's cheeks without rubbing her spit into her face. "I won't be mad."

"You're all so nice even though... even though you're all like That."

"Hmm? What's a That?" She knew exactly what the girl meant, but she feigned ignorance, trying to coax Eve into saying more than fragmented sentences.

Eve shook her head again, tears resurfacing. She couldn't say it.

"Tell me what you think we are." Her voice was hushed, barely a whisper. This wasn't the place to be having this conversation, but they didn't have much of an option.

"I can't. I just- no. Don't wanna."

Eve remembered everything that lead up to this, to her breaking down on the bathroom floor, and sobbed, the weight of her supposed sins bearing down on her chest, killing her slowly.

She remembered being four and falling out of her tricycle, how Chloe, the girl who had been her neighbour all those years ago, rushed to help her and kissed the wounds on her arm, how warm it had made her feel inside, how she had actually thought of falling off again once she healed, all for another kiss.

She remembered being eight and playing some form of ring around the rosie, how she had held this pretty girl's hand, how it made her stomach all giddy, how it made her palms sweat.

She remembered being twelve and going to her first sleepover, how she had shared a bed with Adah, how close they were, how closer they got when Adah rolled over in her sleep, breath tickling the back of her neck, the long arms she'd yet to grow into draped over Eve's waist, how Eve had brought her own hand up to rest on Adah's, how she couldn't sleep because of how fast her heart was beating.

She remembered being fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and how her eyes would wander in the showers, how it would make her cheeks flush, how it would make her loins throb, her first glimpses of desire presenting itself.

She remembered being seventeen and meeting a beautiful girl with hair the colour of hellfire and eyes as blue as heaven, how that girl would laugh, loud and unrestrained, how the sound of it would make her chest ache something tender, how the girl would try to make her laugh along with her, how seeing this magnificent person choose her to joke and banter with made her feel far more special than all the times she had been called a child of God, how the girl would let caring words from deep within her slip out in fits of passion, how her heart would skip a beat whenever she heard the same ache she felt inside her appear in that girl's voice.

"Tell me, Eve. Please. I promise nothing you say here will ever reach anyone else."

"You're all so nice," She tried again, "but you're not supposed to be because you're le-" Eve hiccuped, trying to even out her breathing before speaking again, "because you're les- lesbi-!"

Eve broke away from Paula's embrace, standing up on shaky legs as she retched and coughed at the sink, feeling nauseous but having nothing left in her to throw up.

"I can't say it."

She saw herself in the mirror, every part of her looking like a mess. Eyes puffy and bloodshot, nose running, drool that Paula had missed earlier mixing with her tears and dripping from the corners of her mouth, her white button-up stained yellow with her vomit from the collar to her midriff, sweat making it stick to her more than it should have.

"Why not?"

"Because it's- I-" Eve locked eyes with Paula through the mirror, "I just can't."

"Why? What do you think is gonna happen when you say that word?" She brought Eve away from the sink, voice lowering instinctively, "What are you afraid of?"

How could Eve tell her that merely saying that forbidden word aloud would be an admission in and of itself? How could Eve, without sounding like an idiot or a raving lunatic, explain what went on in her mind, what led her to believe that to say it is to sin, and the weight of the word and the other words that would surely follow after the initial speaking of it?

How could Eve possibly explain her fears? How deep within her they resided? How her fear impacted every action, every thought, personality forming around what was allowed and what wasn't? How, without fear, she would be a different person entirely?

"Tell me why you're so scared," Paula rephrased herself, hoping to get an answer. She wanted to help Eve, truly, knowing that she had been where Eve was and knowing it was easier with others alongside you, but there was only so much she could do.

In the end, Eve was the master of her own fate.

She could only hope that when the time came for Eve to decide what path she wanted her life to take, her choice would lead to happiness.

"If I say it," Eve began, shocking Paula. There was hope for this girl. There had to be. "If I say it, I'll have sinned."

The only thing fainter than her voice was her face, Paula deciding it was in the other's best interest that she lie down. "How will you have sinned?" She had been able to pull Eve down and maneuvered her to lie on her plush thighs, not wanting the girl's face to touch the cold, likely dirty, bathroom tile.

"If I say it, then..." She felt like crying. She should be crying. She deserved it. But her body wouldn't let her. Between the sweat and the tears and the snot, there just wasn't enough in her for it. "Then I'll have admit to it. To being it. To thinking it."

Paula didn't say anything, only stroking Eve's hair in the hopes that she would continue, that she would actually admit to what she was so afraid of being so they could begin to help her.

But she stayed silent, content to lay on Paula, drained in every sense of the word, yet thinking that she didn't deserve to be.

Lilith and Joan arrived after a while, Joan with gum and water, Lilith with a spare uniform from the lost and found and an excuse note.

"Hey," Eve said, in a manner of speaking exclusive for those who have just cried and were unable to muster the energy to care about appearances.

Why should she even try caring about anything at this point?

She was convinced God himself would kill her soon. Maybe she'd be turned into a salt pillar. Would it hurt? To transform into grains and crumble? Probably not. Salt couldn't feel. Wouldn't that be something? A painless death.

They were speaking now. She didn't know what they were talking about but her still somewhat hazy vision could see Lilith moving her lips.

"Eve, hun, we have to leave. Only you and Lilith are excused. She'll take care of you from here, okay?"

"Yeah."

With that she pushed herself up and leaned on the wall, spineless, expectant. How long til a bolt of lighting came down and took her with it?

Joan placed the gum next to her, pity evident in her green eyes, "I hope you'll be okay."

And so they left, locking the bathroom's main door as they did, only Lilith remaining with her.

"Wanna get changed now? Or gum and water first?"

"No need. I'll die in a bit." Eve shrugged. She wanted to take a nap. She wanted to know if death would hurt. She wouldn't get either.

Lilith ignored that and began unbuttoning the spare blouse. "Get into the stall and change your top, they're only giving us an hour off and you can't go to class with puke on your shirt."

She tried handing the shirt to Eve but the girl didn't take it, merely letting it bunch up on her hand when Lilith let go.

"Fine. Gum first." Lilith took the already opened pack from next to Eve and pulled out a stick, the fruity scent of it mingling with the air. "Here."

In response, Eve just opened her mouth. She would die soon and her soul would go to hell. Or would her soul disintegrate when the salt crumbled? It didn't matter. She would be gone soon. She might as well have some fun before she went.

"Take it."

"Just put it in my mouth."

"What? Are- are you sure?"

It was so nice that, even in her last moments, Lilith cared for her.

Eve only opened her mouth wider in invitation.

A familiar, tender ache spread through her chest when Lilith's knuckle brushed against her bottom lip as she bit down on the gum.

If she died now, the last thing she would feel was that near-pleasant ache. She longed for death, if only for that reason.

Eve reached for the water after sometime, swallowing the gum once she felt it lose it's flavor.

Her mother would yell at her if she saw. But she wasn't here.

She drank the room temperature water, Lilith's eyes still on her, letting it drip down her chin and along her neck.

"Are you ready to change?"

"Will you help?"

"Of course, I-"

"Unbutton my blouse," Eve said, deadpan. "Please."

"Eve, I don't think-" The blonde took Lilith's hand, not pulling it closer, rubbing over where finger met palm, feeling every dip and all the ridges.

"Please."

They stared into each other's eyes, Eve understanding Lilith's hesitation, Lilith understanding Eve's needs, something poignant and tangible passing between them.

"Okay."

Lilith moved closer before slowly pulling on the thin, blue ribbon under the collar, giving Eve the chance to stop her, only continuing after a moment passed with no such protest coming from the other.

She unbuttoned Eve's shirt with care, making sure not to disrupt the rise and fall of the girl's chest as she went lower and lower.

No one spoke. The silence around them was tranquil, the serenity of the sea settling after a storm.

Eve leaned closer to her as Lilith removed the shirt that hung from her shoulders, revealing her plain, white bra and the faint freckles that lightly dusted her shoulders, collarbones, and cleavage, though she quickly looked away, refusing to ogle the girl in such a vulnerable state.

She was doing this to take care of Eve.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Lilith used the dirty shirt to wipe the sweat off the girl's back, knowing that letting it dry there could make Eve catch a cold.

After, Eve put her arms through the new blouse and leaned back again to let Lilith button it.

"Lilith?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." Eve smiled, tender, genuine, her exhaustion mixing with the calm that had settled over them. "For taking care of me, I mean, even after everything I've done. Playing nurse to me must be tiring work."

"It isn't," Lilith replied, gazing at Eve with a softness her sharp features wouldn't usually allow. "Not if it's you. Never if it's you."

Without even realizing it, Eve took one of Lilith's hands in hers, tracing the visible veins on her palm, thumb skimming over the pads of her fingertips, feeling every bend and curve.

She tried to convey with her hands how she longed to care for Lilith as well, how she yearned to say to Lilith what she had just said to her.

Lilith cleared her throat and shifted her gaze, but didn't pull her hand away. "Are you ready to go?"

"Let's just wait for the next class, we've already missed half the period anyway and we're excused, so... yeah." Eve could hardly believe what was coming out of her mouth, unaware of what she had said before she said it.

"Yeah." And with that, Lilith scooted over, letting go of Eve's hand as she moved to be beside her instead of across from her.

They were connected now, legs stretched out on the floor, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, Lilith knee resting just a bit below Eve's, to her calf, because of the height difference.

Finally, as her last act in her post-breakdown haze, Eve rested her arm in the crook between their thighs, palm open, hoping, wishing, yearning, even daring to rest her head on Lilith's shoulder, despite knowing and lamenting that she herself would deny this ever happened when they left the room, entering back into a cruel, bleak reality, but doing it anyway, choosing to live in the moment despite knowing that that would make it hurt all the more later.

A single, painstaking moment passed as she felt Lilith's breath hitch and her body tense.

But at long last, Lilith relaxed, releasing a breath she didn't know she had been holding, arm coming to press flush beside hers, when she gently touched Eve's hand, worried she would scare the girl off with the slightest movement, slowly, tentatively, she slid their fingers together, settling into the space where their palms connected with their fingers.

They sat there wordlessly, stomach somehow in knots and fluttering wildly, almost nauseously, all at the same time, cheeks painted pink, breathing shallow and disbelieving, heart aching, tender and familiar and warm.

But it didn't last forever, no matter how much they both quietly wished it to be so.

The bell rang, shattering the silence, pulling them out of the small, otherworldly paradise where it was just the two of them, and, sorrowful all the while, they got up and walked with a snail-like pace, wanting just one more second, not letting go of the other's hand before they reached the door, fingers intertwining til the very last second, they left.

_______________________________

Taglist: @anon-nom-nom95 @phillyinthebathroom @melpomenismask @littlemisscalamity @i-wanna-be-a-rock @extrabitterbrain

(@extrabitterbrain I'm really sorry dude, I forgot to tag you in chapter seven ;--;)

[starshine-selfships]

I feel like Shiaiapouf would definitely be the type to not really be open too much with verbally saying “I love you”, BUT he’d say it another way. Instead he’s creating love letters he carefully wrote in his best hand at cursive calligraphy. Shiaiapouf would also stamp and seal his letters to you with the utmost tender love and care. His letters to you will always start off with,

“My dearest Rigel...”

and at the end

“Forever yours,

Shiaiapouf” with a little drawn heart ❤️

The fact he spent SO many hours writing those love letters and carefully crafted them to you shows just how much he loves you. It’s like a piece of his heart with every single gentle prose he writes about you. He hopes you cherish them all and keep them as proof of your love to him. You’re welcome. 😁🌹🍷✨

Just the CONCEPT of love letters makes me so soft 🥺 Him spending HOURS trying to find the exact wording to convey his thoughts which leads to me flipping through 10 pages of incredibly heartfelt sweet nothings, if they can even be called "nothings" after he put so much effort, so much of himself, into them. I bet he handmade a specific rubber seal just for this purpose, I bet he practiced using it with spare wax and paper, I bet he practiced cursive writing to make it legible for me, and I bet he writes slowly just to make sure everything looks exactly how he wants bc he'll implode if it isn't exactly perfect; after all that work it's almost definitely still just stream of consciousness style writing, he has a lot of thoughts to express and if he can't do it cleanly, he'll just let them flow into one another and find a sense of beauty in how his romantic tendencies beget themselves over and over <3

Hilariously not the first person to suggest that's he's an avid writer so I'm gonna actually repeat what I said prior and say that of course I keep every letter, they're all kept in a box on my desk and they're all organized chronologically; each one has a sticky note with little 3 word summaries so I can tell them all apart, but the love letters are where that starts breaking down bc all the notes I attach are just some variation of "wow!! he loves me!! ❤❤❤" which, honestly, what more would I possibly need to say? I might even separate the love letters from the rest, just to flip through them over and over, even after every word and stroke of his pen has been memorized <3

[iwoulddieforkeanureeves]

A Fateful Meeting (Part 2)

It had been about a week since you had seen John, but you couldn't get the image of him out of your head. His long dark hair, scruffy beard, and deep brown eyes. You sighed, reaching down to pet the unnamed pit bull that rested at your side. When John had left, he left the pup here, so you had started taking care of him as best you could while trying to keep up with school and work. You scratched behind his ears, smiling as the pit bull's tail wagged in response. You sighed as you returned to staring down your textbook, trying your best to study for an upcoming test. You rubbed your eyes, and realized you wouldn't be able to get much work done. You flipped off your light, and plopped into bed, drifting off to sleep.

However, your slumber didn't last long as you heard an unfamiliar shuffling that woke you up. You tried to ignore it, but John's words echoed in your mind. ‘The longer I'm here, the more you're in danger.’ You slowly and quietly got out of bed, and fumbled around your bedroom for something you could use as a weapon. You remembered a knife you kept in case of a situation like this, and grabbed that. Your bare feet padded along the hardwood floor as you exited your room. You paused, the shuffling no longer audible. The hairs on your neck stood on end as anxiety began to creep into your bones.

You jumped as you heard barking, you dashed towards the living room, where the barking originated. You saw a dark figure looming over your couch, where the pup was crouching and growling. Your grip tightened on the knife in your hand, your eyes going wide as you tried to think of the best thing to do.  You weren't totally helpless, you took Aikido when you were young, for self defense reasons, and you didn't want this person, whoever they were, to hurt that lovely dog. You slowly approached, but before you could attack the figure, you heard a gruff voice from your left.

"There she is! Get her!"

You froze, fuck! I didn't check the laundry room! You thought, narrowly dodging the oncoming blow from this new figure. You grabbed the assailant's wrist, using their momentum to flip them around onto their back. You looked down, and realized she was a woman. You swore as the first figure charged you, you slashed at his abdomen, and he grunted in pain. Before you could react, the woman below you swept your legs out from under you, your knife clattering to the ground. You grunted in pain, and fumbled for your knife, throwing a sloppy kick at the woman that managed to connect with her jaw. Burning hot pain shot up your leg as the man stomped on your foot, you let out a scream, but still managed to grab your knife with your hand. You slashed at the mans exposed ankle. You continued to fight these two in your cramped hallway, you did your best but you were slowly losing energy. You hadn't fought like this in a long time, and these guys were trained. You managed to stab the woman in the shoulder, but you were defenseless as the man came up behind you, clobbering you in the head with both fists. You felt shooting pain before your consciousness faded, your eyes fluttered shut and your hands went limp around the knife handle as your body slumped to the ground.

~

After kissing you, John had told the pup to, "Stay." And left, trying his best not to look back. Santino D'Antonio and his thugs were relentless, but he wouldn't let anything stop him from righting his wrongs. His eyes burned with rage as he remembered the image of his home in flames. Red hot anger boiled up inside of him, every trace of his old life was slowly slipping through his fingers no matter how desperately he clutched onto it. First Helen, then his car and Daisy, then his home. His photos, the bed where she slept, her bracelet, her cards. He sighed, pushing the memories out of his mind as he focused on the task at hand. He spent the next few days trying to stay low, killing or evading anyone that had taken up the contract Santino put out for him, while trying to tail the man and his hired hands.

Something that surprised him is that he couldn't stop thinking about you. Normally he was laser focused, hell bent on revenge, but he couldn't shake the image of you out of his head. Your brows furrowed together as you focused on making sure he was okay. There was so much kindness and care in your gaze, your hands so gentle as they brushed across his body. A pang of some unidentifiable emotion hit him, and he knew he had to see you again.

He wasn't expecting to arrive and see your door kicked in, the hinges loose and creaking as he slowly stepped into your home. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end as he drew his weapon. His mind was racing, did something happen to you? He wasn't a very religious man, but he found himself praying you weren't dead. There were obvious signs on a struggle, blood smears and droplets made a trail from the living room into your hallway, where most of the damage was. Holes in the drywall, blood sprayed on the walls and floor, in the center of it, a small business card was propped up.

John carefully picked it up and mulled over the contents. His blood boiling as he read over the cursive writing.

Mr. Wick, why don't you come down and chat with me? I have your lovely friend here as well.

Much love, Santino

He clutched the note in his fist, crumpling it. He perked up when he heard a soft whimpering from your bedroom, he went in and saw his dog laying on your bed. He let out a sigh of relief, at least he was alright. He wouldn't know what to do if his new dog and you both got hurt. He patted the pup gently on the head before standing up and glaring at the note.

He knew he shouldn't have gotten you into this mess, but it was his duty to get you out, safely.

~

You came to with a bag over your head. You mentally cursed, this was the last time you'd help a handsome stranger. You felt that you were bound, rope dug into your soft flesh. Pain radiated throughout your body, your head was pounding.

Suddenly, the bag was ripped off of your head, and you groaned, the bright lights hurting your sensitive eyes. You heard men in the distance growling in some language you couldn't recognize. Your head was spinning as a man grabbed your chin and pulled your face forward. "My, my, you're quite the cutie. Sorry about your head." A smooth voice rang out as the cool metal of rings pressed into your skin. Your eyes began to focus, and you saw the face of an Italian man with curly hair and piercing eyes.

You didn't reply, and opted to glare at him as you pulled your face out of his grasp. The mans smile faltered at your actions as he grabbed your face again, rougher this time. "Where is your friend? I have a debt to settle with him." He said, his tone much more threatening now.

You continued to glare at him, "I don't know what you're talking about." You snarled, trying to pull your face from his grasp again, but he tightened his grip, and slapped you across the face with the other. The heavy rings stinging you. You did your best to stay calm and impassive, but you were scared shitless. Your face stung with the impact.

The mysterious man laughed, "I think you do, miss." He shook his hand off, "My friends..." he gestured behind him, and the two people from your apartment stepped forward, "Might be able to jog your memory." The girl gave you a devious grin, and the man cracked his knuckles. "Unless you remember where he is." He stepped back.

Your stomach dropped as you saw the girl pull out a blade, "I really don't know where he is right now, I haven't seen him since I first met him." You said, your cool demeanor dropping as you let fear seep into your voice.

You closed your eyes as the woman approached you and started dragging her blade gently down your face and neck. You shivered, a tear rolling down your face.

~

John rushed into the building, hair slicked back, gun drawn. His eyes were laser focused as he made his way through the halls, tactfully taking out guard after guard. He had been running from Santino and those out for his bounty, but yet here he was, running directly to him. He had to, you were innocent and kind, and he couldn't let you get killed because of him.

He walked into an oddly quiet room, and whipped around and came face to face with Santino. He smiled, placing his hands in his pockets. "That woman, she's quite the fighter y'know." He began to pace around John, "Gave my acquaintances quite some cuts and bruises."

John glared, continuing to keep his gun aimed directly at Santino's head. "I was thinking... we'd repay the favor." John looked up as he heard a feminine scream above him. Santino gave him a sickening smile.

"What do you want?" He growled, glaring at Santino.

Santino simply shrugged, "Well, you know I can't just let you get away with murdering my sister. Even if it had to be done." He chuckled, tapping his fingers together. "It's so sad really, she was quite beautiful." As if on cue, another scream resonated out, and John cursed as more armed guards poured out from behind Santino.

He ducked blows, fought, stabbed and shot his way through the seemingly endless waves of men. He felt himself getting tired, he knew he had to get to you soon, before things got bad. He groaned as a man managed to pierce his shoulder with a blade, he threw the man over him onto his back and staggered out of the room, following the sound of the your moans and wails.

He kicked open the door with his foot, seeing you. His heart sank, your lip was busted and bloodied, dark lines of crimson littered your neck and collarbone. You had tears streaming down your face, and a large bruise across your forehead. The woman that groped him in the museum a few days prior continued to drag her blade down your delicate skin. He let out a guttural scream, throwing his gun down as he was out of ammunition, and tackling her to the ground, disarming her. John sprang up, adrenaline pumping through his veins at the sight of you being tortured. He turned around and clocked the man straight in the jaw before turning to you, quickly freeing you from your bonds and touching you. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N)." He whispered hastily, turning back around to make sure the two were still sufficiently stunned before lifting you into his arms and hurrying out the building. He kept muttering apologies over and over again as he maneuvered his way out of Santino's base, keeping you safe.

~

You had lost a lot of blood, and you were floating in and out of consciousness. You felt warm comforting hands caress your face as you saw John's figure above you. You wondered if it was real or something your subconscious had presented to you.

His deep voice cut through, "I'm so sorry, (Y/N)." He whispered as he pulled you into his strong arms. You melted into his grasp, hearing his voice rumbling from his chest but what he was saying was inaudible to you.

You meekly grasped his black blazer as you saw your blood slowly seeping into his dress shirt, you felt your consciousnesses slipping from you yet again, seeing the crimson steps of the Continental in front of you before everything went black and you slumped into John's arms.

You came to, John's strong arms still laced around your waist as you both laid in bed. You gently touched your neck, your wounds had been bandaged. You pivoted slightly, turning so you could face John. He was still sleeping, you sighed as you noticed the fresh bruises absolutely covering his body. You couldn't believe he actually came and helped you, you thought you'd never see him again. You gently ran you fingers through his hair as you felt emotion welling up in you and a few tears began flowing down your face.

John opened his eyes, cupping your face in his large hand. "You came back for me." You whispered, nestling your face into his chest.

John cradled you in his arms, gently rubbing your back with his hand, "I'll always come back for you, (Y/N)." He laid a gentle kiss on your forehead. You held him tightly, never wanting to let go.

[frangipanidownunder]

Mulder and Scully always leave little notes for each other around the office

1

Scully,Meet at Wine Down Bar at 2pm. – M.

She unsticks the Post-it and re-reads it. His private education cursive. The way he punctuates. It’s a directive, not a question. Why didn’t he just phone? He is addicted to his cell, after all. She holds the note, stuck to two fingers and calls Ethan, letting him know not to worry about dinner. She has a sneaking feeling she might be late home.

2

The next time he leaves a note, it’s longer.

Scully,Thanks for your company in quarantine. I would have gone stir-crazy without you. I spent a lot of time thinking about what you said before the case, that you’ve lost too much time already. We both have. There are so many things we have yet to achieve. And I’m looking forward to doing them together. – M. xx

PS: How do you feel about Wisconsin?

She smiles. Hopes she doesn’t have to get him out of a military jail again. But knows she will if she has to.

3

This note is in an envelope. He’s made her name look beautiful, somehow. Like a wedding invitation or a Valentine’s or a significant birthday card. Not that she’ll see any more of those. 

She taps the envelope against the desk, chastises herself for thinking that way. It’s been a hard-fought progression from fear to acceptance for her; starting awake in the small hours and reminding herself that she’s dying, realising she no longer able to smell his cologne in the office, to work out if he’s already been in, calling her mother more and Bill Jr less. 

Mulder hasn’t made the transition. Won’t make it. She runs a finger under the flap and frees the notepaper inside.

Scully,I need some time to think about what happened in Providence. I feel empty. I feel confused. I feel that given the right circumstances, I would do it all over again, if it meant I could find out what happened to Samantha. Honestly, that’s the thing that scares me. So, I’m taking a short break. 

I never got to thank you for believing in me, for your trust and your candor. Your strength, your support saved me. 

I’ll be back when I feel ready.Yours, M.

PS: can you feed my fish?

PPS: I’ve enclosed an article you might find interesting. Although, maybe I was attracted to this because I misread the headline as ‘Frankenstein’ not ‘Frankincense’.

She unfolds the newspaper clipping and sighs. Her doctor has told her about a hundred different holistic approaches to cancer treatment and not one of them has inspired her. But there’s something so genuine about Mulder, about his concern for her, that she sits on her chair and reads the findings with careful deliberation.

4

There’s a box on the desk with her name printed on an official shipping label. It’s brown and otherwise unremarkable. She sips her coffee and looks at it a while. Mulder comes in, suave in a new suit. His pale green shirt makes his eyes shine like amber. He’s wearing a new tie too. Charcoal, with a tiny silver polkadot.

“What’s that?” he asks, standing in front of the closed door. He looks like a man who is waiting to close out a deal. He looks hot.“A box,” she says and his face remains impassive.He’s behind her before she can cut through the parcel tape, leaning his arms either side of her, trapping her under him. She can see the fine quality of the fabric of his jacket. She can see those fingers, remember the things he does with them. She quells the shiver she feels ruffling up her spine and opens the box.Inside, there are dozens, hundreds even, of notes on every pastel shade of paper. They all say one thing:

I love you.

She picks up a handful and they scatter over the desk.

“Secret admirer?” he asks, fingering a blue note. It’s in the shape of a love-heart. “Guy’s got quite the crush, I’d say.” He sits in his chair, facing her. Smiling.

She allows him the smile. “I wonder if Jean’s in the lab today. She’s got a background in graphology.”

His grin stretches. “Pretty sure she’s out for the rest of the year, Scully.”

“How long did this take you, Mulder?”

He leans back and clasps his hands behind his head. He says nothing. But he looks like a man who’s closed the biggest deal of this life.

5

She misses the notes.

She misses his words in the fog on the bathroom mirror, in lipstick on a tissue, in seeds on the kitchen counter, in screensavers on the laptop, in texts and answerphone messages. He left his heart in doodles and pictures and letters in the most surprising ways. She misses him.

When she gives up their son, she misses being human, having a heart, feeling.

She starts a journal again. Writing when she should be eating or sleeping or working. She misses them.

Pages and pages of thoughts and guilt and confessions. She’s writing to make sense, to seek redemption, to rationalise and compartmentalise and cope. It doesn’t work.

She misses them. God, she misses every cell of both of them. But it’s what she deserves. This empty life is nothing less than she deserves. It’s all her fault.

Her words are incoherent. Messy. She strings sentences together that mean nothing. She thinks about Missy and how she would read so much into this stream of consciousness, imagines how she might light candles and celebrate how Dana was letting it all out, purging herself.

When he’s sentenced to death, she burns them.

Later, in some nameless motel in some nameless town, she finds a note on his pillow.

Scully,I’ve gone for a run. I’ll bring back bagels and coffee and more of that hair-dye.-M.PS: I love you.

He’s drawn a love-heart around the whole thing. She clutches it to her chest and waits for the sound of him coming back to her. 

[wintersongstress]

A Promise to Keep

Connor | RK800 x Female Reader

Prompt: “For the writing requests, can you do a Connor x Fem!Reader drabble? Something angsty that takes place in a hospital after the reader is injured because Connor failed to save them from harm's way. He feels really bad and watches over you and wants to "make up" for the pain he's caused. You totally don't have to do this though. Just thought it'd be an interesting scene!”----------------------------------------requested by: anonymous 

Pairing: Connor x Female (Human Detective) Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst, Language, Hurt/Comfort, F L U F F

Author’s Note: Oh my god, this is the sappiest thing I have ever written. Not sure if I can write angst to save my life. Regardless, I had fun writing it! Thanks for sending in a prompt anon! Highkey finna start a fic based off of this...

ao3 link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/16207079

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knew where you were before you opened your eyes.

It was unfamiliar at first; the unpleasant sounds and scents bled into your consciousness while your memories had yet to surface.

Though it all came back to you in bits and pieces.

The first thing you felt was the cold. The sanitary and clinical kind that came from lying on a steel table in an operating room was unshakable in your sleep. Your fingers curled, burying themselves in soft, gauzy cotton.

Next there was the smell. The nauseating chemical scent of disinfectant and medicine mixed with a faint trace of pollen cloyed the air. Your nostrils tingled from the stench of chlorophenol and your face pressed into a crisp pillow to escape the strength of it.

Then you began to register the noises around you. The ambient hum of machines nearby provided the final clue as to where you were.

Of all of this, it was the sensation of someone watching over you that finally compelled your eyes to open. Light crept into your vision as your eyelids faltered in lifting open, the darkness of your dreams fading as you took in the room around you.

A pale blue blanket covered your prone body and your hands rested over the fold. The room was dark, save for the glow of the city creeping in from the drawn curtains. Art prints meant to inspire health and optimism decorated the white walls of your hospital room and an assortment of flower bouquets brightened your bedside table. Mandarin orange tiger lilies, buttery yellow sunflowers, and periwinkle irises perfumed the air. The parchment notes stuck between their green stalks read “Get well soon!” in generic, greeting card cursive. Your lips curved slightly upon seeing your coworkers’ thoughtfulness.

You slipped off the pulse oximeter clipping the top of your middle finger. The crook of your arm itched from the presence of a bandage, presumably covering the site of a needle puncture. You groaned from the stiffness in your neck, your upper lip curling at all of the aches manifesting in your body as you tried to move.  

A figure braced their slender hands on the windowsill that overlooked the skyline of Detroit. At the sound of your waking, he straightened. You recognized the opalescent turquoise armband and triangle on his gray jacket and winced.

Connor.

Normally, the sight—even the thought—of him brought a small smile to your face. One you quickly tempered, lest anyone see. He was your partner and an Android—who did not impress you in the slightest at first. He was cold, efficient, and for all intents and purposes, perfect. The peak of Cyberlife engineering. Working with him had taken some adjusting, but, after a while, you warmed up to him. Or rather, he warmed up to you. His rigid posture had loosened up, earning you playful nudges with his elbow when he noticed you were a little down. As the investigation went on, things weren’t so black and white anymore. Your initial assumptions about deviants were increasingly proved wrong. You noticed this begin to bother Connor. Especially when he failed. He began to make decisions based on intuition rather than procedure. He defended your decisions to Captain Fowler. He saved your life twice.

Deep down, you knew that these symptoms were dangerous. More than any of that…

He began to make you wonder.

All of that changed in an instant. And now you wanted nothing to do with him. Because Connor didn’t fail his mission. He failed you. You were lying in the hospital with a gunshot wound to prove it.

This was not a conversation you ever wanted to have with him, but you had to get it over with.

You cleared your throat, hoping your first words wouldn’t come out dry and cracked.

“I hate this place.” You croaked.

This was true. If you were in the hospital, it meant either you or someone close to you was hurt. No joyous occasion ever brought you here. Being here meant you had either done your job very well and had a promotion waiting at the end of your sick leave, or had done your job very poorly and failed in your investigation.

“The last time I was here, I lost someone.” You added absentmindedly. The world outside lured your eyes away from the memory of being in a room just like this one. Connor stood before the sunset, his pale, freckled complexion bathed in a violet hue. Gray storm clouds drifted on the horizon, reflecting darkly in the glassy surface of his contemplative eyes.

“This was my fault.” His head dropped below his shoulders, the movement making his tie dip lower.

Neither of you could have expected everything to go so wrong. You were always prepared for the worst, but then again you also counted on your partner to have your back.

He had gotten a report of a suspected deviant hideout and you decided to investigate it. The abandoned sewing factory seemed empty and you thought it would be a dead end.

Of course it wasn’t.

The next thing you knew, Connor was pursuing the suspect and your service weapon was lost somewhere after you were slammed into a wall. Your head was bleeding from the impact and that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was when Connor caught up to you and had a decision to make. Pursue the suspect or listen to you. 

“Connor, wait! There might be more…” His mouth tightened as he looked over his shoulder at you. You saw the moment when Connor chose to leave you there, bleeding and on your hands and knees in rubble, and it hurt more than the gunshot. When he left to chase the WB200, another deviant rushed by, saw you and spotted your gun. You had raised your hands in surrender, but…

The echo of a gunshot punctuated the memory, followed by the scream you released as the bullet tore through your shoulder. The crimson fluid streamed out from between your fingers as you clamped your hand around the wound desperately.

“I should’ve listened to you.” Connor said now, muttering and shaking his head. “It wasn’t worth it.” He whispered to himself.

Those words meant nothing to you.

It was a cold betrayal. Then again, why did you expect him to choose you over his initial task? How could you believe he was capable of choosing anything but his mission? You cursed yourself inwardly at how foolish you had been. You’d grown too attached to him after all these weeks working together on the deviancy case. Truthfully, you were angrier with yourself than him. You were so blinded by how human he seemed at times that you allowed yourself to forget he wasn’t one.

But still… “Why are you here, Connor?” You sighed from exhaustion, pinching the bridge of your nose at the arrival of an oncoming headache. “You know you’re the last machine I want to talk to right now.” His eyes shuttered at your sardonic tone, not missing the insult you reserved for him.

He didn’t speak, didn’t even look at you. All was silent until the rain started to drizzle outside. Connor smoothed a white petal from the orchid plant on the sill between his fingers.

Wordlessly, you shoved your blankets aside and dropped your feet to the cold floor. He glanced over at the movement and looked as though he was about to protest as you made your way over to him, but your angry words were faster.

“If you came here to give some bullshit subroutine apology, I’m going to have you escorted out because I don’t want to hear it.” You looked up your nose at him. Uncertainty lingered in his eyes as you met his downward gaze.  

“Please,” He reached for your hand and you recoiled, making his gaze momentarily drop to the floor tiles. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took a moment to regather himself before meeting your glare. “Listen to what I have to say first.”

The softness of his voice and the sadness in his pleading eyes made you pause, just for a moment.

“Why should I?” Your voice wavered as your throat grew tight, the dangerous edge of incoming tears dripping off your words. “You left me! Bleeding on the ground! You’ve made it perfectly clear what your priorities are!”

The tears fell freely now, hot and full of anguish. You looked away from him because it was too much, he was too much. You didn’t want to think anything of how broken and despaired he looked. His drawn brows, his lips struggling to form the right words, his hands reaching for you, you told yourself over and over that he was a machine. It didn’t help that he only stepped closer when you withdrew. You wanted to disappear, to sink back into the blissful dark depths of sleep where none of your emotions existed and tormented you. To retreat into the sanctuary of your dreams where your Connor didn’t leave you like everyone else did. 

Connor tried to explain. “If I returned to Amanda empty-handed again—“

You cut him off with a scoff. “I shouldn’t even be mad at you. I was the one with false hopes, I was the one who believed you had the propensity for compassion and sincerity. I let myself think…” You bit down on your knuckles to stop any more words from coming out. Tears clumped your eyelashes together and your shoulders started to shake. God, how could you be so stupid? How could you keep lying to yourself about how much he mattered to you?

“You just…left me there, Connor. Like I didn’t matter to you at all. I would never do that to you.” You confessed.

“That’s not what happened," Connor pleaded your name. "I felt—“

That choice word was what finally made you hiss and spit your venomous words. “You don’t feel anything! Everything about you is fake! Everything that ever happened between us wasn’t real, and I must’ve imagined all of it because now I know you don’t give a shit about me,”—a sob broke your sentence apart—“you never—“

Connor didn’t let you finish.

All of your words and all of your anger melted as he effectively silenced you with his kiss. Before you could blink, before you could finish speaking, his hands had rose up to cup your cheeks and tip your jaw to create the perfect angle for your mouths to slot together. And when that distance between you started to disappear, you finally came to understand a few things.

The first thing you knew was that you were wrong.

You knew this because Connor’s eyes didn’t close until your lips touched. And before they did, you saw in them how utterly lost he was--lost in you. Against all odds and reason, you slid your hand along the nape of his neck, your fingertips seeking to find out if his hair was as soft as you imagined.

It was.

The second thing you knew was that you would never be the same.

He kissed you once, slow and still. Butterflies fluttered inside of you at the soft warmth of his mouth against yours. Connor smeared away the tears staining your cheeks with a sweep of his thumb, but now they were falling for a different reason. The tips of your noses bumped and your lashes grazed from your closeness. The rain, quiet and gentle, pattered against the window behind you and melded with the shameless whimper that came from the back of your throat.

He kissed you twice, deeply, coaxing more of that pleased sound from you with the gentle pull of his lips and the slow crawl of his fingers in your hair while his other hand smoothed around the curve of your waist.

The third time, you brought his mouth back to yours with a sigh, needing him once more to mend the hurt in your soul. He made a soft noise in response, indulging in the longing you both shared, hands moving along your body with the grace of a bird in flight.

Connor pulled away, leaving your lips swollen and parted, and your name was a prayer beneath his breath.

“I thought I’d lost you...” His brow leaned against yours before he went on. “I was scared.” That dangerous word hung between the two of you. “I wanted to disobey my instructions when I heard you scream like that, more than anything. I…I failed you.” The memory was still too painful to think about. Instead you closed your eyes, soaked in the sensation of being this close to one another, let your thoughts dwell on the here and now as your fingers drifted through his hair. The weight of his words weren’t lost to you.

"If I don't succeed, I’ll be replaced. I would never see you again. My memory would be wiped and I would forget your smile, your laugh, the lightness in your eyes when you do. I'd lose you completely and I can't." His eyes squeezed shut at the thought.

His index finger curled along your jaw to capture a lock of your hair. It made you realize how seldom he had occasion for this kind of gentleness. The caress drew your eyes to his, and in that moment, you crossed the threshold of being partners to something more, something neither of you expected nor understood.

You traced over his feathery brow with a delicate hand, your lips parting with the intimacy of how real he felt, how acutely human the touch of his skin alone was. You knew Connor’s features were manufactured; however, the way his freckles dappled over the soft curves of his cheeks and faded into the coarser texture of facial hair along his jaw and neck, and the errant lock of his hair that grazed your forehead now, made him undeniably real. Your eyes crossed from looking at him so closely.

His next words came out in a whisper. “I’m not here to give you an apology. I wouldn’t know where to begin with one. I came here to make a promise.”

Your heartbeat fluttered in your chest, skipping like a hummingbird over trumpet vines.

Promises weren’t a part of programs. Machines didn’t make them. But Connor did. You believed every word he whispered next as his lips brushed them over yours.

“I will never leave you again.”

You smiled against his thumb, soaking in the twilight that streamed over your faces.

“I hope not.” You murmured.

His eyes navigated yours to see if he could kiss you again. You smiled with an unspoken agreement and leaned into the shadows of his face.

It wouldn’t be easy, him and you. There were a million obstacles already stacked against you. There were all decidedly worth it the moment you felt his thirium pump against your chest. The rhythm of his heart beating against yours was not coincidental in its similarity.

“Well, that didn’t take long.” Hank’s teasing voice from the doorway broke your nearness apart. You yelped, burying your blush in Connor’s shoulder and gripped the lapels of his jacket in shame. He didn’t push you away, instead his arms stayed faithfully around you. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and you could feel the warmth of his smile.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” You groaned while keeping your face hidden. Hank only laughed at the whole situation, a humored and genuine smile lighting up his face.

“Ever heard of bed rest?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the replies. Your words feed my inspiration ❤

[msfcatlover]

Name Stories: 1

So, I saw some of the other nerds in @fallenhero-rebirth​ hell posting the backstories for how their Sidesteps chose their names. And, having never posted anything for my (so far) 6 MCs, but having nifty backstories for three of them on that front, I thought: Eh, what’ve I got to lose?

So, here’s #1, with my first ever and still primary Sidestep, whose stats I will perfect... one of these days.

Note: The tense flips around a lot in this one. For once, that’s intentional, as I was going for something more stream-of-consciousness, and... I don’t know if I hit it, but I do like the bizarre rhythm it produced, so. Win?

The kid was half-asleep and slumped over the desk when she entered. This is good. The human memory is a fickle thing, constantly rewriting itself, and it gets sloppy when it’s tired. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t remember her face in the morning—if she was very lucky, he might nod off and forget her altogether.

“I need a room.”

He looked up at her with a yawn—the pin on his sweater cheerfully proclaimed, “Hello, my name is: JAMES” in faded purple marker—and picked his glasses up off the desk. He smiled absently as he slid them on.

“Yes, uh, can I help you?”

“How much is a room?” She pulled out her wallet, to show she was ready to pay. It would have been safer to just pick the lock on one of the rooms—this place was the middle of nowhere, and even if someone did rent it, she could be out the window in a flash—but she hadn’t slept in three days, and her hands were shaking too bad to pull it off. If she even had her picks. If she hadn’t left them behind, bundled up with the rest of her base-regulation gear in the first body of water she tripped over after she started running.

James blinked. “It’s…” He looked at her wallet, stuffed full of petty cash she’d picked up or nabbed along the way. “…one bed and a small room…” He spotted the bruise on her jaw, just starting to fade from purple. “…that’ll run you…” He pretended to check his computer, but his eyes flickered over her week-old clothes, the shake in her hands, the nervous set of her shoulders that she didn’t even notice until he did, once it was too late to fix.

He was waking up quicker than she expected. And he was paying attention.

This was bad.

This was BAD.

“…fifty dollars.”

The words jolted her out of the burgeoning panic spiral, and she swallowed the harsh-bitter taste at the back of her mouth. “What?”

James nodded towards his computer. “The room. It’s fifty dollars a night.”

“Oh.” She smiled, trying for sheepish but ending up far too wobbly for that. “Right. Sorry, it’s late.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “You miss your bus?”

Yes. Three days was a limit she hadn’t expected to hit quite so fast. There were only a few busses that passed through this little dead-end nowhere town, and she’d needed to catch the six o’ clock one to Los Diablos. She’d nodded off just long enough to hopelessly miss it.

“Eh,” she said, neither confirming nor denying. Never give a clear answer, not if you can help it. “It’s a cute little town. I might kick around for a while.”

She cast a quick glance towards the door without thinking. He noticed.

“Uh-huh.” There was something bubbling up, pieces fitting together, and she should run, she should leave, she should give up on a bed and find a nice alley to— “Well, if you’re payin’, we’re happy to have you. I’ll just need you to sign the guest book and I’ll get you your key.”

“…The guest book?” Her voice came out far more fragile than she intended, and James’s eyes sharpened. She dragged a laugh out of her throat, begging it not to sound as scraping-raw as it felt. “That’s a little old-fashioned of you!”

“Yeah, well. My boss likes everything on paper, so.” James nodded towards the binder sitting next to her on the counter. The corners of her smile cut into her cheeks, but she held it.

Flip the binder open. Flick to today’s date.

…Flick one farther, because technically it’s tomorrow now.

Grab the pen that’s attached by two feet of string, tied around the back of one of the binder loops. Write a name.

Write a name.

…It’d been three days. Her brain wasn’t working anymore. New words slip beyond her grasp, past aliases are a stupid risk, and the kid didn’t even have the courtesy to be watching television or leave a book out.

She’s supposed to be good at this.

“Hey?”

Write a NAME.

“Hey!”

She jolted, looking up into wide eyes behind thick glass. James raised his hands, as though she had him at gun point, but his face wasn’t scared. He wasn’t scared, isn’t scared. He’s…

A hand reaches forward, slowly, and steadies hers. She’s shaking so badly, she almost dropped the pen.

…concerned?

“Are you alright?”

No. No, she’s not and has never been alright. “Alright” is a word for people who know what the other side of “okay” looks like, and she’d know if she’d ever crossed that line. If she’d ever been happy.

“Alright” is a word for people.

Her mouth moved. There are no words.

He was seventeen. His eyes were gentle. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d seen “gentle” and hadn’t known “lies.”

“Do you need to sit down?”

No. She shook her head. No, there was nothing wrong with her legs. There was nothing wrong with her body. It was this thing in her head, in her brain; it was her. Impossible to get rid of. She didn’t need to sit down. It wouldn’t help at all.

He was running down the list again. Dirty clothes, fresh bruises, paying with cash, middle of the night, exhausted, jumpy, nervous-anxiety:

Running.

She’s running.

Was it really so obvious?

He took a deep breath and let it out, hoping she’d follow. She did to make her head stop spinning, and he smiled at her.

“Look.” James took the pen out of her hand and spun the guest binder around. “Why don’t I give you the friends and family discount? That brings it down to forty-five dollars, and stretches check-out from eleven to two.” She frowned, and he shrugged. “It’s not like it ever gets used outside of holidays. And really, what’s five bucks in the long term? It’s fine.”

He clicked the pen twice, and put it on the line. He looked up, caught her eye. Willed her to know that he understood.

He didn’t. But it might be the kindest thing anyone ever does for her.

It’s certainly the kindest thing they’ve done.

…It also means he’ll remember her face. Remember her clothes. Remember the way she ducked her head, bit her lip, and nodded agreement. It makes her glad she dyed her hair the night before, black in a gas-station sink, and that the hood and ponytail hide her curls out of sight. He shouldn’t remember her; it isn’t safe.

He used his right hand to disguise his handwriting, and tried to remember the cursive lessons he’d had in school.

J. Becker he wrote, before pausing and turning the r into a t. He adds another t for good measure.

J. Beckett she read when he spun it around again, and dropped the key from under the desk on top.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Beckett. You’ll be in room two-twelve, up the stairs around the corner, sixth door to your right.”

She’s twenty-nothing, with no possessions of her own. Her clothes are stolen, her cash is stolen, her body was never hers to begin with. But this kid, at two o’clock in the morning, this kid has given her a gift. She blinks back tears, reminds herself it’s not the time, and tried to hand him the cash. James started to wave her off, but she pushed forward, pressing the only three twenties she had—one from a parking lot, one lifted from a rich man’s pocket, one dropped and forgotten at an ATM machine—into his hand.

“I insist,” she said, and hopes James understands that she meant Thank You.

He did. He didn’t want to take her money, but he did.

“Have a nice night,” she said. She took the key, and went back outside, around the corner, up the stairs, sixth door to the right.

There was an alarm clock, and she set it for six. She slept right through it, but still had time to shower and steal all the little soaps and bottles sitting around the bathroom before one o’clock. Someone else was on desk duty, so she dropped her key in the mailbox and didn’t bother checking out.

The bus came at three, and she was on her way to her new life. 

~ ~ ~

“So,” he said. She’d left her mask on the table and pulled a hoodie over the skinsuit, proclaiming it was “more freezing than an igloo!” after sitting down. He laughed asked if she’d ever been in an igloo. She laughed and didn’t tell him Yes. “there’s a person under that mask!”

“Yeah…?”

“An actual, breathing person!”

“No shit, Ricardo.”

“I’m just processing: Sidestep has a face! A name! A job! A crummy apartment somewhere!”

“Don’t make assumptions. It’d be embarrassing if you were wrong.”

“Am I?” He grinned. “Do you not have a job?”

She sipped her coffee and rolled her eyes. “None of your business.”

“Are you saying you’re homeless?”

“Fairly sure I didn’t say that.”

Ortega gasped dramatically, clutching his hands over his chest. “Do you really claim to not have a name?”

“Now wouldn’t that be a shock?” She smiled slightly and shook her head. “Of course I’ve got a name.”

“Well then, I’m all ears!” He leaned forwards.

“Never said I’d say it.”

“Oh c’mon! You saved my life, you met my work-friends, we went out for coffee—” He swept a hand out, indicating the tiny kitchen of the Rangers’ HQ. “—I know we’re doing this backwards, but I’m pretty sure a name’s the next thing on the list, right? Or is it a night of drunken debauchery first?”

“Ugh.” She put down her mug. “Is that really how you meet people?”

“Only some of them.” He waggled his eyebrows with a suggestive smirk, and waited until she cracked and smiled. “Most of the them walk up and say ‘Hi, my name is Such-and-Such,’ and then I say ‘Ricardo Ortega,’ or ‘Charge,’ depending on the scenario, and then either coffee or debauchery happen.”

“Well then.” She tilted her head, letting her smile widen. “I think you know what has to be done then, if a proper introduction is going to happen.”

Ortega blinked. “What?” She rolled her eyes, spinning one finger in a circle. His eyes lit up. “Oh!”

He sat up straight, and held out his hand. “Marshall Charge, but you can call me Ortega. The pleasure’s all mine.”

He put on his best Hero Voice; it makes her giggle. She picked up her mug and made no effort to return the handshake.

“Hi, my name’s Jamie Beckett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

[quarterfromcanon]

Rough Draft

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 14 - Love Letters [2,625 words]

The waking disorientation lasted for a shorter span of minutes with each new day Valencia spent in a bed that was not her own. She got used to the way the early sunlight fell through the window at an odd slant as the rays passed above wall outside; she grew accustomed to the layout of the room in the wan illumination and the cool slide of satin across her hips. 

What did not decrease in novelty was the sight of Heather sleeping beside her.

Valencia’s air kept getting lost somewhere inside her lungs, caught between the inhale and exhale, hitching just long enough to leave a sting before she remembered to release it again. That morning was no exception. Sixty hours in each other’s company, fifty-seven of which were in varying states of undress, and they’d reached the level of comfort where both fell asleep nude the previous night. The curve of Heather’s spine in the warm glow of dawn called to Valencia’s fingers like a persistent itch. Her slow, even breathing made the sheets crumple in a pool around her waist. The tattoo on Heather’s right arm smiled at Valencia with its crooked robot mouth. 

Good morning, Wilbur, she thought. Valencia traced its outline and reflected on the first occasion when she heard the story of her friend’s prominent body art, and just how much had happened since that afternoon on a different bed belonging to Heather. It felt equal parts inexplicable and inevitable, a course of events neither of them predicted but which seemed like the only logical conclusion once they were here.

Yet, despite their increasing intimate knowledge of one another, there was so much Valencia still wanted to say. Half an hour ticked by in which she wrestled with declarations and curiosities, so close to shaking Heather awake to share it all, but uncertainty stilled her hand. 

Valencia climbed off the mattress and searched for clothes. She found Heather’s before her own and allowed herself the indulgence of slipping the loose, comfortable fabric onto her frame. Her fists balled up the camisole under her nose and she inhaled deeply. Cedar, citrus, and sea salt - no one product produced the co-mingling aromas but they all embedded into anything that pressed against Heather’s skin. Valencia wondered if perhaps she was adopting the distinct scent now, too. The thought pleased her more than she chose to admit.

She opened the bedroom door and padded around the corner into the living room. The yoga mat she borrowed from Heather’s car waited beside the couch, left in place on the floor after multiple uses. Valencia went through her sun salutation but the state of undisturbed serenity kept receiving interference from the brush of Heather’s madras shorts against her legs. They were comfortable to move in, but a relentless distraction woven with memories of how they wound up by the closet for her to wear in the first place. 

When her morning routine was complete, Valencia went back to the open doorway. She leaned against the frame and gazed down at Heather for a few minutes, curls in her face and calves overlapped beneath the blanket. The terrible need to divulge the contents of her whirring mind rose once more. Valencia’s mouth opened as if to let some of those emotions escape, but she closed it before any sound from her might disturb Heather’s peaceful slumber.

She shivered and pulled the crochet duster cardigan off Heather’s chair for extra coverage. Her arms folded over her stomach while she contemplated how she might broach the subject of where they stood after the recent developments between the two of them. No introductory premise held much potential. She was sure to get tripped up in the delivery, and the embarrassment of wanting to talk at all burned from the imagined exchange alone. Maybe the reliance on speech was not the best call to begin with, and the written word could prove easier to control. 

Valencia fetched her purse from the corner and rummaged until she found her portable bullet journal and a pen. She curled up in the chair and flipped to a blank page. Just as with her practiced conversation, the question of where to start was the most daunting. There were so many options - a joke, an anecdote, an admission - but the ideal beginning existed somewhere in the middle. She touched pen to paper and tested a few lighthearted sentences in precise, steady-stroke cursive.

You’ve had me crying out this entire weekend (not just in literal tears). I mean sexually you’ve had me crying out. What if the whole neighborhood hears? But as I’m heaving my chest, struggling to catch my breath, there’s something I’ve got to bite my tongue not to confess: I’m so scared. I think I like you. I want to hide I think I like you. It’s reckless, but you make me weak in the knees, and it’s not just your mouth that’s got me begging please...

She gave a disgruntled sigh and tore the draft free. Valencia crumpled the first attempt and tossed it into the trash can beside Heather’s nightstand. A fresh set of empty lines stretched underneath, ready to be filled, but Valencia put off a second trial in favor of leaving a note to herself. Her pen dug into each letter with unnecessary force.

Remember: NO NO NO This is just about sex. NO NO NO Keep this longing in check!

Valencia flipped deeper into the journal and looped her contemplation across unused parchment in a stream-of-consciousness, which she partially edited upon review.

I see you in nothing but that old blouse with the doughnut stain, and just like that, all I’m thinking again is holy crap, I think I like you. Don’t hate me. I think I like you. Why can’t I get lost in bumping and grinding like your face disappears inside my thighs? ’Cause as I’m returning the favor and you’re on your back, I want to see myself through your eyes. Then you curl your finger, beckon me to the brink, and suddenly it’s like way down deep I think I like you. Secretly, I think I like you. Can’t help falling harder every day. You’ve got me knotted up... not in a foreplaying way.

“Whatcha workin’ on, buddy?” Heather inquired.

Valencia jumped so hard that her notebook nearly went airborne. She shut it with a snap and tucked it under the cushion of the chair. “Oh, just finding things to do until you woke up,” she answered in a casual tone that directly contradicted her unusual behavior. 

Heather, much to Valencia’s relief, was too disoriented to detect anything suspicious.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in.” Heather tilted her phone, checked the clock, and rubbed her eyelids. “They don’t even need me at Home Base until ten, but I’d better go ahead and shower, though. What about you? Any plans for today?”

Valencia shrugged. “I’m wide open.”

A mischievous smirk formed at the corner of Heather’s lips. “Good to know.”

Valencia blushed and smiled in return. “Is it okay if I stay here while you’re gone?”

“Sure, of course. Mi casa and all that. You’ve got some of your stuff here to begin with, and anything else that comes up, you can just borrow mine --” Her gaze scanned Valencia’s outfit. “-- which I see you’re already doing. Are those all my clothes?”

Valencia self-consciously rubbed her kneecaps. “Yeah, they are. I got a little cold.”

“Shoulda never left the bed. I could’ve warmed you up.” Heather held out her hand. “C’mere.”

Valencia fell into the embrace and blanketed Heather’s body with her own. She hummed appreciatively and trailed her hands down Heather’s front. “How are you so much toastier than me when I’m in layers and you’re still naked?”

Heather nosed the cardigan aside and scraped one of her cuspids along Valencia’s shoulder. “There’s actually a scientific reason for that, but it’s way too nerdy and un-sexy to explain while you’re playing with my nipples.”

Valencia snorted and cradled Heather close. “I don’t know about that. I think the way your mind works is pretty hot.”

“Dude, careful. I’ve got like a decade’s worth of Gen. Ed. crap up there. You don’t wanna sit through all that.”

“Depends where I’m sitting.” Valencia caught Heather’s lower lip between her teeth and tugged.

Heather groaned. “Your wordplay game has seriously leveled up now that you’re all out-and-proud. I’m gonna have to sharpen my skills.”

She wriggled one hand under the back of Valencia’s waistband while the other inched up the cami. “Did you put on my underwear, too?” she asked just before her touch advanced far enough to reveal there was no sign of them. Valencia shook her head to answer regardless. Heather’s nails scratched with deliberate pressure over the expanse until Valencia shuddered and arched. “You even wear my clothes the same way I do,” Heather remarked. “Commando’s out of the norm for you. I appreciate your commitment to accurate imitation.”

“It’s the sincerest form of flattery.” 

“Mm, and the most helpful.” 

The madras was midway up Heather’s forearm by the time her fingers reached their target. Valencia rolled her hips. She gripped both sides of Heather’s face and kissed her until they both swayed dizzily. They worked together to discard the duster and Heather coaxed Valencia flat against the pillows.

Time unfurled outside of their awareness, the passage of an hour they were both happy to lose, and when Heather finally returned to her side of the bed, the purloined ensemble was scattered around the room where it began. 

“Okay,” Heather panted. “Now, for real, I have to shower.”

Valencia pressed one last kiss to Heather’s arm before she departed for the bathroom. What little oxygen Valencia had to spare left her in a dazed chuckle as she finger-combed her matted hair. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. The numbers on the cell phone screen blinked and changed several times before she retrieved the notebook and jotted down a third paragraph, but the fuzzy giddiness of her brain produced admittedly ridiculous results. 

Are there dental dams to block out this keening? Is there a strap-on long enough to thrust some space between my crotch and heart? Take out the batteries before I vibrate into ecstasy fantasizing an apartment, and maybe a pet, and then we get to ride on a Pride float...

Valencia held the journal away from herself with a grimace. “Oh my God!”

I think I like you. Her hand trembled, but she resisted the urge to cross out the truth. What to do? I think I like you.

She turned back to the old page, doodled her lover’s name, and retraced the reminder.

~*~ Heather ~*~

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

Valencia grumbled and ripped away the lot. She dropped them into the trash can and restored the journal to her purse.

Her own clothes turned out to be beneath the bed in a pile. Valencia put them on and went to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. She was scrutinizing the expiry dates on some of Rebecca’s choices when Heather reemerged from the bathroom. 

“I’m making something to eat real quick before I head out. I can add enough for two servings, if you want in on it,” Heather offered. “Let me just dry my hair and then... ah crap. This happens every time.”

“What’s wrong?” Valencia called from where she now sat beside the island.

“Nothing major. I went to unplug my phone and knocked it into the trash. I’ve seriously done that like five times already. I’ve really gotta move this thing.”

The blood drained from Valencia’s face. She dropped off the stool and raced toward the bedroom. Her ribs collided with the door as she skidded to halt. 

Too late.

“There’s a whole stack of paper scraps in here,” Heather said, hands full of tattered sheets. “This is your handwriting, isn’t it?” 

She glanced at the uppermost piece and her eyebrows lifted. Valencia froze. 

“You made my name look really pretty.” Heather held up the rest of the pages. “Was this gonna be for me?”

“Please don’t read any more,” Valencia pleaded.

“Okay.” Heather gently restored the discarded musings to their place. “That’s the only thing I really saw, so, whatever you don’t want me to know is safe.”

She plugged in her hairdryer and sat on the bed. Valencia could feel the shift in the air between them. While Heather guided the gusts of heat in systematic lines from scalp to end, Valencia perched at the foot of the mattress. She clasped her hands atop her legs and fought off the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Heather glanced her way for a fraction of a second when she paused to press the snowflake button in the middle of the dryer, but her stare was inscrutable and she said nothing. Valencia’s throat ached and her fingers twitched with the desire to reach out and hold Heather’s hand in her own.

Heather slid the plastic bar to ‘off,’ unplugged, and rolled up the cord. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” Valencia permitted in a quavering voice. “Anything.”

“The secret... which, by the way, suckiest hiding place ever... is it a good thing or a bad thing?” Heather busied herself with reluctantly putting on a bra and briefs to go beneath her work outfit.

“Good. I think. I hope.” Valencia hugged herself and crossed her ankles. “I just don’t know if it’s something you want to hear.”

The tension left Heather’s body as if she’d been holding her breath. “All right. Well, I respect your privacy so, I mean, I’m not gonna pry. Just know you can always talk to me, if you want to.” She buttoned up a blouse and stepped into a pair of slacks. “I won’t judge you or anything. Scout’s honor although, to be fair, that doesn’t count for as much as it could because I only went to like two meetings during cookie season.”

Valencia laughed, and a relieved smile brightened Heather’s face. She leaned down and brushed a soft kiss across Valencia’s cheek. Their eyes met when Heather pulled away. The revelation flew from Valencia’s mouth before she could stop it.

“I like you.”

“Good. It’d put a different spin on the last few days if you told me we were hatefucking this whole time.”

Heather gave Valencia’s shoulder a little shove and then walked out of the room. Valencia followed so quickly that it startled Heather when she turned around and found her standing there. 

“I don’t think you understand.” Valencia’s features were gravely serious. “I like you.”

“I like you, too. Do you want pancakes?”

“No, I mean I like like you,” Valencia clarified with wide eyes.

“As opposed to unlike liking me?” Heather prepped the skillet and set the temperature for the burner.

“Heathe...” Valencia’s expression was a unique blend of reprimanding scowl and petulant frown as she popped onto her earlier seat. 

Heather laughed but, upon seeing Valencia’s continued genuine distress, she relented. “I get it, V. Don’t worry. I just like teasing you. Y’know, to be flirty.”

“Would it be so hard to make this easy on me?” 

Heather pulled Valencia nearer, counter stool and all. She cupped Valencia’s face in her hands and kissed her. “Like that?” she joked. Heather leaned in until their noses and foreheads touched. “Was that easier?”

Valencia tried to look sullen but the facade wouldn’t stay in place. She locked her legs against Heather’s back pockets, draped both arms around her neck, and found Heather’s lips again with hers. “It’s not a bad start.”

[synthapostate]

Back At The WIP List

Because I had some wild ideas but I forgot to write them down. One of these days I must get organizized.

Resist Psychic Death - Possessed Newt. :(

Like Cats and Dogs - Was supposed to be about getting a post-precursor possession emotional support pet. Inexplicably became non-Uprising-compliant lazy Sunday married couple sex fest, only it is becoming increasingly apparent that I'm never going to get to the sex. Scrapped.

The Tropes Nobody Asked For - A bodyswap AU. Comedy. Hurt/comfort.

I could be writing sweaty nerd sex like a normal person but no - Mostly a story about self-image. Angst. Fluff. There is no plot. Some kind of stream of consciousness BS. (Complete in the sense that anything can be complete given continuity of identity within linear flow of time.) It wasn't complete. Turns out I'm writing sweaty nerd sex but not like a normal person. Scrapped.

Decontamination Shower - A lab accident makes things weird. (Still not sure where I was going with this but now everybody's naked cute, so.)

Fear of Flying - A deep dive into my aerospace engineering special interest, technically includes a lot of hand-holding. (This one's really taking off.) (Oh no, it's stalled.) (These jokes are just plane bad.) Scrapped this one too.

Heating Pad - A cat adopts Hermann.

Thriller - The Shatterdome is kind of spooky at night.

Pillow Talk - There was only one bed, mistaken for dating, fake relationship. I almost had it, but I think the final chapter is going off the rails.

Miserable, Lonely and Depressed (Pathetic) - The return of Cool Uncle Newt. (He's not cool, he's possessed.)

Vampire AU - I mean obviously I had to write a vampire AU at some point. (Comedy.)

Whump - Was supposed to be about a car accident, but it turned into emotional hurt/comfort. With pie.

Some Days You Just Can't Get Rid of a Bomb - Newt tries to solve capitalism.

Retail Horror Stories - Newt and Hermann commiserate over the shitty jobs they worked when they were younger. (Maybe scrapped because honestly no one needs my nonfiction about MegaKaren.) Scrapped because people are gross.

The Graves Stood Tenantless - Comedy, it was SUPPOSED TO BE A COMEDY Death of a major character. 50k word novella about grief APPARENTLY. (Newt mistakes Crimson Peak for a romcom.)

Nightmares - Ghost drift bleeds into their dreams.

Cold as Ice - Hurt/Comfort? Something. Contains no hurt/comfort and has nothing to do with cold or ice, but...it's...something.

Newt's Passion - A sex pollen fic. (No, it isn't.) (Zom com.)

Other, Funnier Ghost Story - Will it be a comedy this time? Let's find out. It is a comedy but it's about vampires now. OH GOD. Not a ghost story, not remotely funny. Vampires, full horror. I'm tempted to resurrect my old pen name for this one. (Y.A. Gorefest, Jr.)

Fever All Through the Night - Sick fic. All comfort.

Consent is Sexy - A team-building exercise leads to certain confessions that would not be made while sober.

Some Sign to Pursue a Promise - Hermann overthinks everything. A story of missed connections. (Complete.)

The Moon Turned to Gold - Newt is desperate to impress his old classmates. Good thing he has this amazing new husband to show off. (A comedy.) (Zine fic!)

Cold as Ice 2: Alaskan Boogaloo - Does have something to do with cold and ice.

The Worst Thing I Can Possibly Imagine - My genuine attempt to work through something, but then I thought of a punchline so now it's a funny little shitpost.

Splash - A...feelings thing. The first tentative steps toward getting along.

Caffeine Blues - I swore I would never write a coffee shop au, but...

Fields of Azure - Newt and Hermann are sent on an outdoorsy team-building retreat with some rangers (possibly by mistake) and both turn out to be full of surprises. Pure fluff.

Stop You Have Enough WIPs - Some silly fluff for these stressful times.

Shoes - Newt's past catches up with him. Hermann is intrigued.

Groundhog Day - Hey man, these sci fi tropes exist for a reason.

Turning Cursive Letters Into Knives - I swore I would never write a soulmate au, but...

Newt and Hermann Go On Six Dates - I write fluff now 😊💖

Hermann Gets Shot - It is so dangerous to start a fight in an elevator when one of the people you're fighting has a gun.

Return to Sender - Newt leaves Hong Kong to work for Shao. Angst.

Find Me in the Drift - Some very disorganized ramblings that might be a sequel to Dinner With a Friend.

The Curse of Gottlieb Manor - In which I actually try to write horror on purpose, and give myself the most intense nightmares I've had in years. I'm toning it down for the actual story.

Dead Letter Office - Hermann's last letter comes back to haunt him.

Painting the Kitchen - About finding a future after the apocalypse is averted.

Total Eclipse of the Heart - Jake Pentecost doesn't trust Newt, decides to keep a close eye on him to guard Hermann's back, and accidentally ends up with two new dads.

Black and White Cookies - Birthday fluff.

A Kidnapping - Um...it's a kidnapping.

Wake Up, Dr. Jones! - More trauma.

Secret Santa - Christmas fluff.

Space Opera - When the first kaiju comes through the breach, Newt fires off a plea for help into deep space. There can't be just one alien race out there, right? Maybe some of them will be on our side.

[kaz3313]

Inktober Day 1

I wrote stuff 😊

It’s a reader insert hahaha but I had a lot of fun!

Ps: I love reblogs and feedback. Also feel free to give Constructive Criticism!

Day 1 Poisonous

This Morty is very different then most. Not his appearance, physically he had the same skinny physique as any other, but the way he talks, the way he holds his head, his smirk, and...well his manipulative ways. He could bring someone under his control in just a few conversations. He has this air about him, one that is so sincere and safe that even most Rick’s let their guard down. But you’d seen through him, saw that he held his head higher because he knew no one could outdo him, his smirk was cold as ice and only held the feeling of a sadistic triumph, and his words were sweet but held a hidden venom that would brainwash someone out of any suspensions. Though you had him, for what better way to out smart a trickster then to play along with his game.

Pretend to believe his campaign, attend his every lecture, be his number one supporter, become his faithful servant whom would never question his word, and then press further. No more a servant but a companion, an equal, one he could rant to. Be the perfect shoulder to cry on. Gradually press on, become more close. More romantic. Infect him with his own poison; leave him with no worries. And look where you’ve made it, in the eye of the hurricane.

Tonight will be no different than any date night. Even though his speeches contain the best of political eloquence Morty was no romantic and the date would consist of a bottle of cheap champagne and a pasta dinner (the pasta was quite good, only made by his best chef) but the atmosphere was lackluster. Morty thinks his Tower of Power, a name that makes you want to cringe every time he says it, is the best and only place to eat but you couldn’t help but feel chills crawl up your spine every time you’d sat up there. Though that might just be a you thing; since you know about the massacre that took place in the very chairs you have to sit in. The most intimate thing the two of you have ever done is hold hands on rare occasions .

So it is rather surprising that on your bed a skimpy red dress is laid out, accompanied by a small note that reads in perfect cursive tonight.

You pick the red dress up; it’s rather plain except for pearl-like beads sewn into the neck of it. You shrug, honestly you’d rather a simple dress than a fancy one. Quickly you put it on and begin to make your way to your date. Which when you arrive is your second surprise. Morty is donning a blood red suit and jet black tie. He’d never previously dressed in anything special for this kind of a event but here he was.

“ Why, you look lovely tonight,” Morty’s voice held the fake sweetness it always did but instead of deterring you like usual you felt a rush of heat spread through your cheeks. “ But what day do you fail to meet such criteria, darling ,” He reaches over brushing your hair out of your face causing a single chill up your spine. He looks like he always does but...in his eyes, one that was a deep green and one a vibrant brown, you could see something you couldn’t place. Could it be...love?

“ Morty, your acting quite...smooth tonight. What’s the special occasion?” You ask, self consciously fidgeting in your seat. Suspicion ate at your mind but you begin to hope he’d really fallen for you.

“ Well, I’m sure you got my note,”

“Um, yes, but what does it mean. What’s tonight?”

“ A…,” He pauses a second his gaze wandering around the room before returning to you “ A surprise. Like the dress,”

“Hmm, well I look forward to your surprises,” You grab his hand expecting him to pull away like usual but instead he grabs your other hand.

“ Bold but right of you to assume I have multiple gifts,” He draws your hand over to himself before placing a kiss on top. “I have four in total and that’s your second,”

“Ooo, keeping track are we?”

“I wouldn’t want to forget to give you one, now would I?”

After a while a Rick walks in, staring at you, pushing in a cart of all your favorite foods and you can’t help but gasp

“ Three,” Morty states as you gorge yourself on the food. The dinner continues and Morty continuously flirts with you. Gosh, he was smooth and it escapes you why’d he kept it hidden from you.

“Alright…” He reaches under the table revealing a bottle of Pinot Noir.

“ Four,” He says pouring a glass for you and himself. Before long yout sips turn to swigs as the tasty liquid flows down your throat. Your mind is light and airy and both of you are having so much fun… You don’t even notice his glace hasn’t been touched.

Two...three...four...He keeps pouring more and more for you. You’d never have had wine before.Your having so much and yet you can’t quite quench your thirst. And your vision begins to blur in and out of focus.

“Why, I think you should slow down enjoy your present. It is your last after all,” Your mind swims and you understand his ominous words a minute too late. You should’ve seen this coming. You attempt to stand but your leg gets caught on your chair and you tumble to the cold floor.

“N-no,” You try to shout but your voice falters into a pathetic whisper. Helplessness seizes you and you feel the tears streaming down your face.

“Honestly, darling, you’d tricked me for awhile...but a magician can pick out his own tricks from someone else’s act and quite frankly compliments distract you too easily. So does alcohol despite you not knowing the difference between red wine and poison.

“Y-you cliche little bastard. Telling me how you did it,” You spit out but your vision has already darkened.

“Well unlike cliches, I’ve already won,” And with that, the last thing you see is his grin.

His dreadful poisonous smirk.

[amysmessybrain]

april 6, 2021

hello welcome to my messy brain

i’ve tried making several online blogs in the past just as private journals for myself and it never really works out for an extended period of time but i wanted to try again because i think i’m better at journaling now than i have every been. i’ve haven’t completed eliminated my filter but i’m a lot closer these days and i’m able to write in more of a stream-of-consciousness style. i think what still gets in the way is a) the fear that someone else might read it (which is unlikely here considering i password protected this tumblr that nobody know about by me) but mostly b) my brain moves so much faster than my handwriting (even though it is much faster these days and my cursive is *chef’s kiss* beautiful). sometimes the act of physically writing with a pen and paper can be therapeutic but sometimes it’s exactly what stops my from writing. so having this virtual journal will be a nice addition, and i’ll be randomly going back and forth and probably disappearing for weeks at a time when i go through my exhaustion comas and it’s all ok!!!! because at least i’ll be here sometimes to dump the contents of my messy brain.

i really want to drop the concept of “catching the (imaginary) reader up on what’s happened” or even the pressure to have what i’m writing make any sense at all because that’s not the purpose, i am just here to let things flow out of my mind and body and having some poetic entry to look back on isn’t the point. i also used to get really caught up in this idea that my future self will judge my words but ??? my future self will be a master at radical self love anyway. i know she only loves and has compassion for my present day experience. luv u 2 future self!

i’m eating kimchi, i bought kimchi for the first time and i’m eating it and it’s really good??? best kimchi i’ve had?? i’m really making an effort to eat more probiotics because i want that healthy guy ya know what i’m sayin? for some reason my body never really craves kombucha and yogurt is like...eh...i don’t want dairy but also vegan yogurt is pretty gross so maybe i can try to start putting it in morning smoothies. it’d be awesome to have a smoothie every morning where i can get in my daily probiotics, antioxidants, omega 3s, calcium, and dark leafy greens. i really want to start honoring my body and my energy and noticing how it feels because it’s not so much for me and all i rarely take the time to appreciate it...instead i loathe the dimples on my thighs and the acne on my cheeks and i deprive it of food and nutrients in an attempt to make it smaller. i started listening to sonia renee taylor’s “the body is not an apology” and i’m excited to get through it (actually get through it) because i could really, really use a breakthrough in radical self love. i’m not even half way through the first chapter and she’s said some things that really resonate and make me think. 

i’m always trying to change myself, learn more, more knowledge, more skills, more creativity. instead i think i could try focusing on what’s blocking my already innate knowledge and wisdom and power and resiliency, and learning how to remove these inherited restraints that aren’t serving me. my ideal future self has overcome so much of what is holding me back...it doesn’t make sense for me to bring all this baggage with me into my future. i’ve heard it so many times but always forget to integrate it before i forget. i don’t need to learn how to be magic...i am inherently magic. i need to remove what’s getting in the way of me being fully expressed and fulfilled. of course none of it is my fault and i can offer myself compassion and simultaneously recognize that i am in control.

hm i don’t want this to turn into a post about galen but i (literally) just remembered that he’s on a date tonight and probably hooking up with her at this very moment and i..........don’t care? i’d genuinely be happy for him? we’ll see if that feels any different once he’s told me but for now i am content and also very impressed with my transformation in the area of jealous. maybe it’s because i already feel insecure with him to begin with, and more and more i don’t really have a desire to fix that. on my way home today i was thinking about ending the intimacy with him more seriously than i ever have. it feels like the right thing to do for myself. i’d write about the reasons but i’d prefer not to get into that because for once i’m thinking about myself instead of him.

i’m slowly losing the inspiration to write and i kinda want to take a hit or two because that helps but i don’t want to be high if galen ends up calling? gah that shouldn’t be what stops me though. so maybe i’ll...take one. :)