#it felt so much larger than myself and so unreal

[itsza]

went to my first pride parade today.

[gwhite2by2]

Project Evaluation

For this project I originally wanted to have a much bigger focus on narrative, I do normally have some narrative elements but it never really wrote any scripts or clearly outlined anything and that was something I wanted to do for this project but ultimately didn’t get a whole lot done on that side mostly because it wasn’t what I wanted to do it, I didn’t enjoy it and instead just wanted to keep working away on unreal and the dialogue I didn’t write wasn’t any better than normal mostly because I wasn't properly engaged in it being my main focus. One place where I did move on from old habits was the use of AI generated music for the game instead of using existing songs as it helped me differentiate my world and idea from the music that helped me come up with it and I learnt how to efficiently make use of boomy’s tools to generate music that fits as well as music can fit for it being generated and not made by a person. This also helped me reach the collaboration requirement of this project even if it was at a small level as I was worried about being able to get something on that side of the project.

I think I did a better job this project than I have on my previous year 2 projects of just simply making it clear what my design decisions behind mechanics of the game where and why I thought they would work particularly with the dual item system which I think is much better and more thought out item system than I had in some of my previous projects. I also think that although I didn’t get nearly as far into it or as much done with it as I’d hoped that the concept I’d come with was cool, unique and fit both the 2 by 2 and Noah's ark themes in a cool way. The original concept also fit the collaboration brief with NPC’s helping out but in the end I didn’t have time to implement those mechanics so I’m a little bit disappointed by that but I know that the ideas were there and that I mentioned them in my blog. In terms of actually meeting the collaboration aspect of the brief I think I spent too much time researching different AI tools and talking about how would use them in game instead of actually just implementing the game and by the end I had some surface level visual inspirations implemented as well as two AI generated pieces of music that I think came out all right. I think using AI over directly working in a team was the right choice for me personally and AI music in particular I think I will be using for future projects but I could’ve done a better job of directly implementing that into the games itself which is something I’ll be trying to do in future.

I think that I got overly ambitious with this project and expected myself to have a much larger game by the end of the project and instead I feel like I have an unbalanced half finished demo but when I look back and remember that I’ve only had 4 weeks Instead of the usually roughly 6 and remember where I was at 4 weeks into previous projects I realize that I have done pretty well and just got overly ambitious with the concept. I do however think at the same time that I could’ve had a much cleaner more solid game if I had some point during the project tempered down what I wanted to get done and just focused more on certain elements instead of wasting time trying to get myself to write dialogue on slides which I really didn’t enjoy doing that I could’ve made something more cohesive and finished. My final outcome only really meets my project proposal as like a demo of what I envisioned but still meets the majority of the requirements I set for myself. 

I think the biggest thing I learnt from this project is that I just really don't like writing dialogue in the template that I had set up for myself which sounds like a small silly thing but I spent a lot more time that I should’ve just trying to get myself to get on it with a write which led to it feeling forced and unenjoyable. One thing that was a big negative for this project but will be great for FMP is that I just felt disconnected from this project and didn’t feel that attached to the idea which led to decreased motivation for it which was mainly due to the fact I already had an idea for my FMP that I’m very much in love with and wanted to start work on immediately but didn’t use for this project due to the fact I wanted te longer development time of the FMP to work on it. This means that I almost definitely won’t have the same lack of motivation for my FMP as I did for this project since I’m so excited about the idea and I want to bring it to life to the absolute best of my ability. Another thing that I think contributed to the lack of motivation was thinking about the scope of my idea and looking at how much time I had left just made particular mechanics feel daunting to start and made just getting on with much harder and the fact that I’d made very similar mechanics in the past made it feel more like repetitive work rather than the usual fun desperation to see my ideas brought to life although those repeated mechanics were what I wanted for the game. These are all problems I don’t think I’l have for my FMP just because of my excitement for the idea, the longer development time and the fact that it will be very differently structurally and mechanically from previous projects which means I’m giving myself fresher mechanically ideas to think about.

Overall I think this a project that I should be proud of since I made a lot of progress in visual effects, music, art direction and much cleaner implementation of mechanics but I ultimately just don’t and feel like it could’ve been so much more and that there was a lot of missed potential, especially with the sequel template but I am happy enough that the game is in a decent state and I can soon move onto FMP which I am very excited about and I think will go incredibly well as I haven’t been this excited about an idea since my year 1 FMP which came out well for the same reasons.

[nevertheless-moving]

Pop Star Wars AU: Waking

Drabble set in this au which I wrote way back a few weeks ago.

Back then, I had only recently decided to look up my tumblr password for a third attempt at being an appreciative fandom community member instead of just trying to think really hard at internet strangers, and maybe shout into the void a little. (But there’s like, several people here now??? How did you even find me on the internet? )

Anyway I have since learned how to spell Anakin’s name and insert links. Also that if you resize your window while typing directly into tumblr everything disappears.

Self Indulgent Crack Pop Star Wars Time Travel Fixit (star wars au no 3):

After several years of exile in the Jundland Wastes, Ben Kenobi had not quite finished mentally unpacking the decades of mistakes, grief, and failure that had led him to the desert. It was the work of a lifetime, and some days were harder than others. But after several forays in and out of alcoholism, spice addiction, and every other form of geographically-accessible self-destruction, he could at least say that some days were easier. 

The process was no doubt made more difficult by the abject solitude. Unlike the chaotic years that constituted the fall of the Republic, he had all too much time to think, and no one around to share his thoughts with. He closed his eyes in the dark of his hut, thoughts drifting between past and future. 

The past was as ugly and lovely as ever. The larger future didn’t look much better, but he could find some joy in the thought of tomorrow and fresh bantha milk when the herd roamed near. Owen was always much less begrudging of his presence when he came with an offering, and Beru would likely invite him to stay for noon meal where he would share in fresh cheese as Luke rambled about his plans to fix-up a junked speeder bike.

The thought of Luke’s happiness at the treat allowed him enough peace of mind to meditate more deeply.

He carefully broke off a piece of unfair-bitterness from his larger loving-grief. The bitterness he released into the force. The grief he turned over and soothed until its edges dissolved. He accepted it, now smoother if not smaller, laying it to rest alongside his hard-earned wisdom and unfinished poetry.

Tired, but fractionally lighter, Ben Kenobi drifted to sleep.

He opened his eyes to the first rays of daylight peeking in his temple chambers.

The room was intimately familiar. For a few years they were Ashoka’s, on the rare occasion she found herself temple-side and in want of privacy but not complete solitude. For a solid decade before her, the chambers were Anakin’s, though he was quick enough to accept the common room couch when Ashoka entered their life. And before that...they were his. That was his model rocket on the shelf, and his astronomical mobile hanging from the ceiling, and his robes scattered on the floor, though they hadn’t been arranged as such in this room since his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon. He sat up. 

Glad he had put energy into meditation last night, he used the lingering clarity of mind to try and work through possible explanations. 

Vivid Dream? No a quick pinch to his inner elbow debunked that, as well as the fact that the morning taste in his mouth was more the minty tang of denti-cleaner, rather than the saltiness of dried meat which he had grown accustomed to.

Hallucinogenic mushroom flashback? Possible, though it still wouldn’t explain the detail of physical sensations he felt, running his hand from the temple-spun linens on his bed to the warm-carved wood of his bedside table. He stood and did a perfect forward flip in place. Shockingly his knees didn’t ache at impact, but a drug induced hallucination of this intensity would have some sort of impact on his equilibrium, and he felt perfectly balanced, at least physically.

Force vision seemed most likely. Sinking into cross-legged meditation, he gradually lowered his mental shields. There was no whisper of Vader or Palpatine anywhere near Hutt space at this time, so the risk of reaching out was both manageable and necessary. Rather than the pure energy he personally associated with intense visions, he felt gradients of light, echoing ripples of emotions, and the unique solidity of force-imbued stone walls.

Heart beginning to race as reality set in, Ben concluded that he was, indeed, in the Jedi temple on Courascant. Even if he had suffered a complete psychotic break, his force sense couldn’t lie with such crystal clear detail. Confused unreality mixed with images of the past and future, sure. But this was the temple. It just was. 

He couldn’t make sense of it. Even if he had somehow been found, drugged, and transported to the heart of the empire, the rooms as he sensed them didn’t exist anymore. The contents were lost or burnt, the stone walls destroyed and rebuilt into a wing of the Imperial Palace.

Obi-Wan sank deeper into the force and reached out further, searching for he answers. In general, the force felt light, the shroud of the darkside was a hazy irritation in the distance, not a smothering blanket. The manifold wounds in the force formed by senseless war and destruction were absent. Also gone were the tang of grief and loss that he had begun to associate with the temple’s signature even before- even before the purge.

The temple was also full to the brim with tens of thousands of lights in the living force. He reached out to them incredulously, nudging many just to feel a living, sentient response. The last time he remembered feeling so many Jedi all in the temple at the same time was...well, when he still lived in this room. The nearest living force sensitive presence was achingly familiar, though notably and unquestioningly living. He could feel the presence moving nearer and retreated, pulling himself fully back into his body.

The only explanation that fit was that he had suddenly, miraculously, inexplicably traveled back in time. 

He half ran to his closet, opening the door with a yank to reveal a full length mirror. A once-familiar, 25-year old padawan stared back with visible shock. Of course his knees didn’t hurt, this body hadn’t yet been broken and abused by knighthood, war, and Tatooine. His hands examined the smooth chin, the unwrinkled forehead, and even the terrible, terrible haircut.

Obi-wan startled at a knock at his door, freezing in place. 

“Padawan?” Came Qui-Gon Jinn’s voice softly, “I don’t intend to pull you out of meditation prematurely, but is there a particular reason you were sprawling over the temple this morning? You startled me somewhat. To be perfectly honest, I think you might have alarmed a few people around the temple, I’ve already received messages from council telling me to reign in my padawan before he hurts himself.” 

Qui-Gon sounded more amused than reprimanding, and he paused, clearly waiting for an answer. 

Obi-Wan’s jaw locked up. What could he say? How could he even to begin to explain what had happened? He sank to floor, head pressed to the ground and tears silent streaming down his face. All he could do was offer to the force were words, the feelings could come later Thank you. Thank youThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU. 

For whatever reason, the force had granted him a second chance. Regardless if it was intended as punishment, gift, or inexplicable chance, he would build a better future than the one he left behind. 

“Padawan?” Qui-Gon knocked again, sounding concerned, “Are you alright? If you don’t answer I’m going to have to come in there.”

And all at once he had flipped back to not enough time to think and too many people needing his attention.

Obi-Wan managed to open his mouth to call out some meaningless assurance, intent on gaining more time to process the fantastical situation. Much to his surprise, what came out was a strangled, keening sob. Qui-Gon burst through the door. 

Obi-Wan realized, with a little embarrassment, that he was curled up practically into a ball on the floor, tears streaming in a shocking waste of water. It was probably not the most dignified, nor the most reassuring position for Qui-Gon to walk in on. 

Qui-Gon rushed to his side, pulling him up by the shoulders to frantically look him over. “What happened?” he demanded, “Are you hurt? Did something go wrong while you were meditating and you were trying to reach out for help?”

Obi-Wan smiled at the barrage of questions. He had almost forgotten that on the rare occasions when Qui-Gon’s perfect Jedi serenity broke, he became somewhat counterproductively intense. 

“I’m alright, Master,” he tried to say, but what came out was more of a croaking, “MNNrlerR.” 

This predictably, only increased Qui-Gon’s concern.

To Obi-Wan’s deep consternation, he was dragged by Qui-Gon to the healer’s wing. He remained quiet during the examination, not wanting to risk whatever was compromising his ability to speak. It could be readjusting to his younger body, or a manifestation of the admittedly great emotional shock he was still experiancing. Or simple lack of practice- it had been several weeks since he had last heard the sound of his own voice, from a certain point of view.

After finding no physical cause for concern, Master Vyr asked Qui-Gon to wait outside.

“Padawan Kenobi?” The Tortugan healer asked gently. “Your Master seems quite insistent that something is wrong. Would you like to discuss what the problem seems to be?”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and was relieved when his voice came out smooth and under his control, “I’m alight, Master. I apologize for disruption. I experienced a... particularly strong vision when I woke up this morning, and temporarily lost control over myself. I’m already feeling more stable. I believe I simply need to meditate on what I’ve seen. My master unfortunately came in while I was dealing with some of the emotional aftermath.

“I see,” Vyr responded. “Did you experience this vision before or after your expansive foray into the force? I understand a surprising swath of the temple felt your presence press against them this morning.”

“I reached out after,” Obi-Wan admitted. “My vision was...particularly dark. I felt the need to ground myself with the presence of other Jedi. I’ll make certain to apologize to anyone I may have startled.”

Eventually he was cleared with the strict instruction to stick with shallow meditation for the next few days as well as a strong recommendation to seek out Master Yoda, Sifo-Dryfas, or one of the other Master known to experience visions. 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan walked back to their quarters together in a peaceful quiet. It wasn’t until the door clicked behind them that Qui-Gon rounded on his padawan.

“What vision could possibly have left you in such distress?”

Obi-Wan walked to the kitchenette to make tea, stalling before answering. “You have always told me to stay focused on the present, Master”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Yes, however this...vision seems to have altered you somehow. You are grieved by it.”

“Yes. But what I grieve may never come to pass.” 

It won’t come to pass. I might not know his every tool, but I do know Sideous’s biggest secret, and I WILL stop him.

“Will you not tell me what you saw?” Qui-Gon asked, sounding somewhat hurt.

Obi-Wan poured the hot water carefully, feeling torn. If he told Qui-Gon everything... would he believe him? Perhaps, eventually but...what would become of Anakin, still just a boy? And the moment he knew of Palpatine’s evil...he knew Qui-Gon. He would favor the direct approach, underestimating the sheer breadth of the trap the sith had laid (Obi-Wan himself lived through it and only began to understand long after it had closed).

“I saw...a great shadow fall over the republic.”

He sat at the table, relishing in the simple pleasure of pouring a cup for Qui-Gon and himself from a shared pot.

Qui-Gon cradled his mug in his hands. “I see. Nothing specific?”

“Your death. At the hands of a tool of darkness. You ran ahead...” Obi-Wan took a scorching sip to stop himself. “It was foolish. Unnecessary. And I was forced to fight alone without you.

Qui-Gon set the tea down to stroke his beard in thought. “Well. I have no great desire to die. While I make no promises, I will endeavor to avoid leaving you behind ‘unnecessarily.’”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan replied, over sincere. 

They drank in peaceful silence. It was interrupted by a shrill noise from Qui-Gon’s comm.

“I’ve just received a personal request from the Chancellor to immediately assist in negotiations with a Trade Federation blockade around Naboo. Are you feeling up to it?”

“You know, I think I am”

[idesofrevolution]

Here y’all go. Hope you like it.

Look at him, isn’t he adorable? I’d been watching him and his college friends playing ball every Saturday from my balcony. Each time, I’m hearing him talk about “slamming pussy” and “playin’ the game” as if he knows what that means. Jock boys always think the world of themselves, and sometimes for good reason. Every now and again, I look back on my own days at that age, fondly remembering all the bullshit trouble got myself into. I’m telling you- once you hit a certain age, you just want to relive those debaucherous days again; and hearing this little shit wasting those years degrading the ladies... I knew I could do so much better with his assets.

So into my mind popped a little idea. We’re living in a world of infinite possibilities, and using a few tricks and a whole lot of ingenuity you can really access some more unattainable goals. For instance, knowing the local voodoo priestess can be an invaluable advantage. Miss Marie had lived across the hall for as long as anyone could remember, and she had the respect and fear of everyone she met. So for a few hundred dollars and debt or two to her, she gave me a little gris gris which she insinuated could help little old me up my game. 

With bag in hand, I had to make my move. That Saturday I watched with bated breath as the boys were shooting hoops and talking shit until the sun went down. When the streetlamps went on, one by one they departed and left the ladykiller waiting on his Uber. As he sat there flipping through Tinder on his phone, I whispered the incantation that Miss Marie had taught me. Three times I repeated it, never once breaking my gaze on him. Upon the fourth recitation, I saw him suddenly throw his phone on the ground in rage. He tossed the basketball across the street and started to pace back and forth. Calling down to him, I “checked in on him.”

“Hey! You alright?” He looked up to my balcony and grimaced. 

“Shut the fuck up ya fruity bitch! Phone’s dead that’s all! Mind your business!” I chuckled and leaned against the railing, watching my hateful prey unknowingly within my clutches. Thinking his Uber was on it’s way, he sat down on the curb and pouted to himself. Five minutes turned to forty minutes and with his ride nowhere in sight, he played right into my hand. “Ay! Fag! Got a charger or somethin?” A smirk crawled across my face and I waved him over to my building and buzzed him up.

Now truth be told, I had no idea what to expect. Marie didn’t exactly explain how the gris gris would work, nor did she break down how to initiate the plan. So when he knocked on my door, I’d be lying if I said I was entirely understanding of what I was doing. I swung the heavy old door open and there he stood. Glistening with sweat and a scowl on his pretty boy face with his beat up skateboard in tow. 

“So where’s the charger?” He looked me up and down, disapprovingly looking at my big belly and old biker tattoo sleeves. Back in the day, I rode with my crew from coast to coast, fuckin’ every stud, twink, and bear that came my way. But the years hadn’t been too kind to me, and from the look on his face he sure didn’t see me the way that those boys back then did. Convincing myself to swallow my pride, I tossed him an iPhone charger and pointed him to the living room outlet. Plugging it in, he plopped down on my couch, and completely ignored my existence. Muttering under his breath, I could tell his Uber had cancelled.

“You can stay here until your car gets here.” I leaned against the hallway arch, taking in his steaming muscles. He clearly worked out in addition to all the days and hours of basketball. And damn... did he smell like hours of and hours of basketball. It was my favorite scent- raw testosterone, absolute masculinity, untempered musk; and his was STRONG.

“Bet your ass I’m getting the fuck out of your creepin’ ass house when this car gets here.” He thought he was so hood, so badass. He had no clue. Soon, though, he’d learn how to be a real man. Soon he’d be more than just a basic pretty boy frat kid. He started coughing gently, trying to hide it behind his phone screen, but the coughs grew louder and heavier. “Yo, get me some water!” I smiled.

“Get it yourself, bitch.” He whipped his head in my direction and tried to jump up, but realized he could barely move. It was as if he had no breath. “Oh, you’re feelin weak, huh? Why don’t you call your friends and they can come pick you up.” He tried to reach for his phone, but his arm had all but given out. Panic set in behind his cruel, mean spirited eyes and for the first time I saw him for who he really was behind the muscles, good lucks, and put on swagger: a little homophobic bitch who was in over his head. I walked over to him and plopped down on the couch next to him. His smell was strong and virile, full of youthful pheromones that he knew were a gift straight from God. I tested the waters and lifted his limp arm, exposing his wet pits. Assaulted, I tell you, I was assaulted by the sharp fragrance that poured from the hairy confines. He could do no more than a whiny whimper as I buried my nose and tongue into his armpit. 

“Well, fuck, kid. It’s been a fuckin’ bitch knowing you. But it’s gonna be one hell of a good time bein’ you.” I saw the last of his pathetic consciousness fade away. Where it went I neither knew nor cared; all that was left was his empty, hollow husk. Curious, I brought my fingers to his plump lips and pried. A sound I can only describe as stretching elastic rang through the room as I pulled and pulled. Looking inside, he was hollow, albeit padded with slick flesh that outlined his impressive musculature. Letting go, his face snapped back to normal. He was ready.

I eagerly stripped, thinking of all the adventures I could relive from within him; thinking of the numerous opportunities that I could snatch with his glorious body and my confident mind. Laying him down, I stuck my toe into his mouth and pushed. After a few thrusts downward, my foot slid down his throat. It took a solid minute for me to weasel my second foot into the tight confines of his slimy mouth and down his throat, but they were soon both slipping down his torso, through his muscled legs and landing in his tight feet. I was several sizes larger than he, so his tiny size 7s felt like a pair of tiny, wet rubber socks to my size 13s. Yet, after a little adjusting, they looked amazing at my size. I brought one to my face, pressing the damp soles on my nose, taking in the salty, rank funk that emanated from between his toes. I stood up, his mouth around my ankles making my a little wobbly. I grabbed his waist and pulled up, watching his legs slip over mine. The sheer size of my pudgy calves and thighs seemed to be suctioned into his, adding my mass to his musculature. He would be so much better at my 6′2 than his 5′9.

After a hefty tug, my bloated ass was sucked into his, tightening and firming into an ass any stud would kill to plow, and anyone would kill to plunge their tongue into. Sauntering over to my mirror, I saw a toned, gorgeous lower half, with my tubby top pouring over our waist. My cock was pressed tightly against my groin, since I’d forgotten to slip it into his when my ass was... compacted. I stuck my meaty hands beneath our skin and tried to grab my shaft, leading it towards his. The kid wasn’t packin’ anything impressive. I guess his ladies didn’t have high standards for dick. But I’ll tell you when my thick rod was slurped into his, it was like I was thrusting inside the tightest fleshjack I’ve ever used. Looking down, I smiled at a girthy, 10 inch, uncut fuckstick. I swiped my finger underneath my new foreskin and took a deep sniff. Fuck. Yes. It was unreal. The cocksmell was so strong yet so addictive, it was as if it was dripping manliness in odorous form. 

I knew that there was building pressure from within, and that the midsection would be the hardest thrust. So, I readied myself. Getting my footing underneath, I took a deep breath and held it in. With as much strength as I could muster, I tugged upward and my bulging belly was gulped into his skin with a loud “shlorp.” This took my body a moment to adjust, with a hefty beer gut protruding from my stomach, but after a deep belch, a set of washboard abs was there before me. To my surprise, and glee, some of my tattoos had transferred to my new skin, which gave me hope for the sleeves I’d grown to love.

Speaking of which, it was time for me to thrust my arms into his, which seemed entirely easier than my stomach. I slipped on his arms like gloves, the sensation of touch returning to my fingertips as they slipped into his. Looking at the mirror, it seemed only a fraction of my sleeve transferred over. Oh well, better than nothing! His shoulders snapped over mine, and I stood there in all my nude glory- with his jaw around my throat. I was ready. I was so ready to begin anew. I grabbed the jaw, matching his bottom lip to mine, and pulled his face over mine like a silicone mask. It suctioned to my head and within seconds I opened my eyes to a new man. 

I was incredible. My face was an amalgamation of both our likenesses, the best of both worlds. I winked at my new self, testing out my old cocky smoulder. I still got it, and hell, I would be using it a whole fuckin’ lot. A knock on the door woke me from my eyefucking and walked over to the door. Opening it, there stood Marie. She looked me up and down and rolled her eyes.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s a bonafide stud once again.” I smirked, and let her in. “Phew... Boy you’re fragrant. But then again, I’m sure the boys you fuck are into that sort of thing huh?” Smiling, I lifted my arms, and took in my scent. Better than poppers. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we? You agreed to the terms, now it’s time to pay up.” I plopped down on the couch, preparing to hear the terms of my debt.

“What you need, baby?” She grabbed me by the cheeks, looking her straight in the eye. All color must’ve flooded from my face.

“Your big blue eyes aren’t gonna get you anywhere with me, son. You are to do as I say, do you hear me?” I nodded silently. “I need followers, boy. Followers. Those who are willing to do what I need done, and in exchange... I’ll add them to your little crew. When I tell you to get something done, I need it done, you hear me?” I nod. “Now when I say go get some more boys, ma cher, you understand what I’m saying, yeah?” I smile as she lets go of my cheeks. “Enjoy your immortality, baby. I’ll be in touch.” With that, she tosses me some clothes as she walks out my door.

It’s been three weeks since that day, and the old man in the flat is nowhere to be seen. His ‘son’ Sebastian has since taken over the lease, and become something of a staple in the community. Always makin the ladies swoon, and the guys drip. Always there to end a fight with a swift K.O. to the chin. Always happy to help a down-on-their-luck neighbor. But most importantly, always looking for new people call ‘family.’

WELP. Introducing a potentially new recurring character: Sebastian the Voodoo King. Let me know what you think of him through asks, and what you’d like to see him to HERE. Have a dope day, kids. Hope this is everything y’all wanted.

[fairlyspnfanfic]

The Ties That Bind Us - Part Six

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail?  Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old.  The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do.  But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests.  I’m not going to post the actual requests because…well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2167

Warnings: Trauma, medical terminology, stress, hospital waiting room, tears, anesthesia

PART ONE  PART TWO  PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE

Dean stood alone in the washroom; the mortar full of ingredients sitting scorched on the floor.  He swept his hands through his hair and walked over to the sink, quickly grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and beginning to work on cleaning up the paint from the trap on the floor. It took mere moments, but it felt like an eternity.  While he was tossing the remnants of his spell into the trash bin, a loud insistent knock was again rapping at the door.  

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Keep your shirt on.”

“Dean!” Sam was yelling outside the door, continuing to pound on the cheap, grey wood.  

Shit, Dean thought to himself as he rushed to finish the rest of his cleanup. Once the last of the traces of his work had been disposed of, he yanked the door open and breezed past his brother wordlessly.  

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam’s indignant voice trailed behind him.  “What did you do?”  

The accusation in his words was not unfounded, but still, it left Dean enraged. “What are you talking about, Sam?”  Dean’s voice was sharp and dismissive as he spat the words at him, his face scrunched up into a defensive glare.  

The youngest Winchester caught up with him within a few strides as he reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder, forcing Dean to turn around and face him.  

“Don’t do that,” Sam pleaded.  “Just don’t.”  

“What, a guy can’t take a dump?”  

Sam glared at his brother, leaving the silence between them thick and expectant.  

“Come on Sam, we have to get back in there. Y/N’s depending on us.”  

Sam nodded his head, disappointment evident in his stance, as they both walked back towards the waiting room.  

Immediately, Dean began pacing between the aisles of seats, his long legs bowing out as he did so.  He was listless and his hands alternated between running through his hair and yanking on his own neck in a vain attempt to relax the beyond strained muscles.  

The doors to the surgical hallway flew open and the same doctor that had spoken with them before came rushing towards them, her eyes bulged out in surprise as she locked onto the boys.  

“Doc,” Dean’s voice was full of anguish as he strode up to her, meeting her just outside the rows of seats.  He remained silent, waiting for the update she undoubtedly was there to give him.  

"Tell me she’s alright,” Sam whispered, walking up next to Dean.  The doctor remained silent.  Dean let out a sigh, lowering his head over his crossed arms.  He was all stress, panic and anxiety in human form.

The doctor opened her mouth to start speaking but came up empty as her mouth closed again.  After several false starts without explanation, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  

“We’re going to need some sort of words here, doc.”  Dean’s jovial voice was hiding his tension and impatience, but he remained unsatisfied as the woman continued her silence.  

“She’s not,” Dean began, unwilling to finish the sentence.  “No,” he stuttered. “No, she can’t be.  She’s not gone.  Tell me she’s not gone.”  

Sam laid a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder and stepped in front of him. “Dean, it’s okay.”  He sniffed, unable to control the tears forming in his eyes as they began to fall.  

“No,” Dean began muttering to himself, his eyes wide and fixated on the floor. “No, she said...she was supposed to fix it.  We had a deal.”  His words strung together haphazardly.  Dean could hear his own heart pounding faster and faster.  “No,” he whispered.  

I opened my eyes violently; the dryness of them sending pain and discomfort through me.  I could feel my head pounding, but the pressure in my chest overrode all of it.  As much as I tried, I couldn’t take a breath.  My lungs felt as if they were solid bricks, useless in their emptiness.  I struggled against whatever was blocking them, attempting to take gasp after gasp of fresh air that wouldn’t come.  All I could feel was pain.  My pounding head, aching eyes, useless lungs, and beyond bruised body fought against every survival instinct I had.  

“Oh my God,” I heard a man’s voice yell out.  I lifted my hands to my face and began clawing at the foreign objects that seemed stuck inside of my mouth, arms and chest.  

“No, no, no!” Panicked voices surrounded me as blurred shadows began rushing around me, poking and prodding me at every juncture, as though my threshold for pain was exponentially larger than it actually was.  

“Calm down, Y/N.”  A soothing voice rang in my ear.  “We need to close you up now,” she sang.  “But to do that, you have to sleep.”  

I attempted to speak, wanting nothing more than to scream at the people around me, to tell them no, to make the torment stop, but words were beyond my reach.   “The machines are breathing for you, Y/N.  Don’t fight them.  A little more rest and you can wake back up.  But for now,” she crooned.  “You need to sleep.”  

I watched her fingers grabbing at a tube as another set of hands gave her a vial which she quickly depressed into the tubing between her fingers.  Within seconds, my eyelids drooped, and my head became heavy, my vision fuzzier than before.  And before I could protest, I had drifted into a dreamless, nightmarish sleep.  

The panic in Dean’s chest had begun to consume him as it seemed like the very ground beneath him had given way.  He sank to his knees, kneeling on the floor with his head cradled between his hands.  His cheeks were covered in the salty streaks of his own tears as he took deep breaths, attempting to find some hint that this was all an awful dream.  

Sam moved in front of him, his legs blocking Dean from view.  The doctor stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, as if she were in shock.  

“You need to say the words, Doc.”  Sam crossed his arms, swallowing the lump in his throat as the tears that his eyelids had been successfully keeping at bay finally fell.  “I need to hear the words, or I won’t believe it.”  He stressed each word, holding on to hope that all of their assumptions were wrong.  

He watched as the doctor finally raised her line of sight to meet his eyes and shook her head slightly as if bringing herself back to the present.  “She’s awake,” she said.  

Sam’s eyes lurched open as his arms fell to his sides.  “What?”  

The doctor shook her head again, confusion clearing as she did so.  “She woke up.  During surgery. She woke up momentarily.”  Her explanation did little to settle the worry that laid heavy throughout the room.  “We had to sedate her, but she did wake up for a moment.”  

Sam lifted his hand and pulled it down his face, grasping his chin as he did so.  “What does that mean?”  His question came out much calmer than he felt.  

“It’s a good sign,” the doctor began.  “Typically, with this kind of trauma, there wouldn’t be more than a ten percent chance of survival.”  Her words did little to provide any comfort.  “But we’ve repaired the damage and she’s in the recovery room now.  It’s going to take a while for her to wake up since we had to sedate her again, but it’s a good sign.”  

Sam took a deep breath, reaching down behind him to grab Dean’s arm.  He pulled him up and forced him to stand.  “Dean,” he said, smacking his hand against his brother’s chest and pointing towards the doctor.  

Dean looked up hesitantly as he made eye contact with the doctor again.  “She’s in the recovery room,” she explained again.  “It’ll be a couple of hours before she’ll be in her own room, but once she is, you’re welcome to see her.”  

“Her body, you mean.”  Dean’s words were painted with defeat.  

“No, Dean.”  Sam turned around, looking at his brother pointedly.  “She’s alive.”  Dean’s eyes flicked over to his brother’s as he let out a breath, allowing more tears to fall down his cheeks.  

My eyelids were so heavy.  Like steel doors that had been locked shut, and I was powerless to move them.  But I could feel the moisture of my own tears leaking through them as they dripped down my cheeks and across my lips.  All I could feel was pain.  The gravel in my chest that seemed to expand with each involuntary breath that I hadn’t initiated.  The sharp, shooting pain that was radiating out from my back.  The pounding in my head that felt as though my temples were trapped in a vice that was constantly being tightened.  It was unreal and I didn’t think I could, or that I’d want, to cope with it.  

Every part of me was scorching.  That same sort of burning feeling that only seemed to happen when you were too cold, freezing from the inside out.  I attempted to move, urging my knees to bend and scoot me away from the frozen fire that felt as though it were seconds away from consuming me.  My lazy, thick voice whined into the emptiness as I urged myself to plead for help.  The only sound that came out was muffled and nonsensical.  

But within seconds, I felt warm fingers snaking themselves around my hand, intertwining my fingers with them.  The warmth and comfort that originated there began to spread, and I poured all of my strength into flexing my fingers and squeezing the hand of my hero that had alleviated some of my agony.  

“Mom?” My voice was almost unrecognizable.  As though I was speaking through a thick layer of fabric that had been woven over my voice box.  

“Shhh,” a soothing voice rang out as another hand swept across my forehead.  “You’re going to be just fine, Y/N.”  I knew that voice.  I would recognize it even if I were dead.  And yet, I couldn’t identify it for the life of me.  

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”  Two lips pressed themselves gently to my forehead, leaving an aura of safety and respite from my aching body.  

“Dad?” I questioned.  

“Y/N?” Another voice called out to me, but from the other side of the room.  “We’re here, Y/N.  Sam and Dean,” it answered me.  “We’re right here.”  

I pursed my eyebrows together, still unable to open my eyes.  Sam and Dean were there.  I knew that their presence meant I was safe.  That the terror of not knowing where I was or why everything hurt so much should ebb away.  But every part of me wanted to scream at them.  To push them away for pulling me back from the perfect peace I had found with my parents.  I could still hear the waves crashing on the beach and remember the feel of my mother’s hand in mine.  But all the contentment and ease had gone and been replaced with suffering.  

“Hey, hey relax Y/N. It’s okay.” Dean’s voice attempted to soothe me as he pushed my hair behind my ear, gently cradling my face.  

“No,” I murmured.  “I want to go back.”  My words came out as whispers, but their intent was sincere.  

Dean relaxed his grip on my hand. “What?” he asked.  But no more words were able to push through my lips.  The tears that had been quietly dripping slowly from my eyes now became a deluge as my eyes and chest were wracked with sobs.  The pain that shot through me with each violent spasm was disorienting and overwhelming, but the tears wouldn’t stop, and my heaving breaths were undeterred.  

My fingers dug into Dean’s hand, desperate to keep him close to me as I pulled him towards the bed.  I was able to curl my legs up into myself, ignoring the pain shooting through my abdomen as I did so, as I pulled Dean’s hand ever closer to me.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” his voice rang out like velvet.  “I’m here,” he said as I felt the bed depress next to me as his legs pressed against mine.  His arm wrapped around my shoulders as he slowly released my hand, holding me close to him and pressing a kiss to the top of my head.  

The sobs that had sped through me began to calm as I buried my face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of evergreen and freshly cut wood.  

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his arms keeping me enveloped into him.  

Deep breath after deep breath of his intoxicating musk had calmed my tears and slowed my breathing back to normal.  The sharp stabbing pain had localized and no longer radiated out to every molecule of my being.  Within minutes, I drifted off, terrified of any dream that I may have that could never compare to where I had just been.  

To be continued….

Part Seven

Taglist (Tag requests are open):

@vicmc624 @waywardprincesa @heyyy-hey-babyyy  @carissime72  @deans-baby-momma  @formulafun  @woodworthti666  @yetanotherreader  @crashlyrose  @hobby27  @gabby913  @jxackles  @polina-93 @supernaturaladdictsblog  @fandomoverdose666  @deans-baby-momma  @deanwanddamons  @tazzi-baby  @acertainhero  @lilulo-12

(Desperate attempt to get my faves to notice me) @thinkinghardhardlythinking @smol-and-grumpy @wonder-cole-reads @watermelonlipstick @that-one-gay-girl @waywardbaby

[avaria-revallier]

A dragons wish Chapter 6

Read here

Reblogs appreciated

The dwarrows hadn’t moved an inch since Bilbo had left the forges running after Ruby. They stood around the cushion-castle the little girl had built, like fierce guards made of stone, staring into space. He stopped, right in front of Balin, frantically trying to catch his breath.

“The… The dragon! It was huge. A gigantic beast! Even larger than I ever dared to imagine,” he huffed.

Instantly he had their attention. The dragon was real, and very much alive. A cold shudder ran down the hobbit’s spine. The whole situation had just drastically changed.

The eyes of the company simultaneously shifted from Bilbo to Thorin. The king hadn’t said a word so far, in fact he hadn’t shown any kind of reaction since the young girl had left them in a hurry.

“Thorin?” Balin tried it again.

He didn’t react, didn’t move. Thorin just stared into the empty hallway where Ruby had vanished not long ago.

Ruby!

“It has Ruby,” Bilbo whispered in horror.

Just now he remembered the clothes the dragon had in his massive claws. Looking up he could read the same horror in the faces of the dwarrows.

~

Yes, he was their king, and yes he had become a good friend for Bilbo over time, but his behavior was just too much!

Ori sat down next to him, taking a break from barricading the large entrance with massive boulders. The young scribe was by far stronger than he looked. When Bilbo had complimented him for it, Ori had only shyly mumbled something about having it inherited from their mother and that Dori was even stronger.

Glancing to the side he could spot a familiar book in the scribe's hands. The book he had received from Ruby. It was bound in leather and rather plain looking. There were no golden ornaments or embedded jewels on the cover.

Thinking back, the hobbit hadn’t seen any fancy jewelry or other valuable things on or near Ruby. The braids in her hair were held together by wooden clips and beads, she hadn’t worn any bracelets, rings or necklaces. Even her clothes looked rather old and had many patches and parts that were repaired.

“What is it about?” the hobbit nodded towards the book, watching the nimble fingers of the scribe caressing the worn pages.

“Stories, it seems, about adventures and magical creatures from faraway places. One is about a young elven woman visiting her grandmother in the dark forest. Sadly the grandmother had been eaten by a warg, which now posed as the grandmother to also eat the young girl. Luckily a ranger comes by, freeing the grandmother as well as the young girl. Which is highly unlikable, but still… I like the happy ending,” clutching the book even harder he stood back up, rejoining his brothers.

Bilbo was the only one who noticed the faint brushing of the young scribe's hands against the rough palm of the warrior as he passed by him.

~

Dwalin sighted. This was not what he had hoped for, not at all. Still, having the little scribe by his side gave him strengths to press on. With a last look on the youngest of the dwarrows he left the front gate to inform his king of the newly arrived visitor.

“Thorin,” upon entering the grand hall of the forges he noticed how the king hastily straightened himself, “we have a guest on our front door.”

Hope sparked up in the blue eyes, but almost instantly died down again as Dwalin lightly shook his head. Thorin’s head dropped, facing the floor. His hand clenched around a silver necklace of some sort, he continued to stare at the floor in front of him.

“Who is it?” Thorin managed to ask after a moment of silence.

The warrior tried to gloss over the amusement in his voice with a khoff. This was really not the time to laugh at the childish reaction of his friend. Still, seeing Thorin, king under the mountain, his brother in arms and on the battlefield sitting in the middle of a cushion castle, surrounded by fluffy blankets, soft cushions and pressing a vibrant pink, flower-shaped cushion against his chest, was rather unsettling and strange.

“Bard the bowman from Lake Town is asking for an audience with you,” the warrior simply answered.

Thorin didn’t react. He hadn’t really moved since Ruby had left and had holed himself up in the forges as soon as the devastating news Bilbo had brought them had gotten through to him fully. Even now he was only staring into the empty hallway, while his fingers fumbled with the strange silver necklace.

Dwalin sighted again. If he hadn’t saized command shortly after Bilbo had returned, who knows what would have happened. Sure, they all were shocked and devastated at the horrible news of the dragon returning and taking the wee lass with him, still, Thorin was their king, their leader. The warrior hadn’t seen his friend like this since Frerin had gone missing. Enough was enough! There was a pile of work left and Dwalin was rather sick of it.

“Thorin, you are my king and friend. I respect that you are…” not sure how to describe the sight he saw before him Dwalin coughed again and continued on, “You will come with me and if I have to drag you there myself. You ought to be king and welcome our kin not long from now, so behave like one!”

~

Bombur nearly choked on the bite he had just taken from the large sandwich Bifur had brought them all. Hastily he took a large swig of the water he held in his other hand. Blinking twice the cook realized that this was no daydream or illusion at all. There was Dwalin, which was nothing out of the ordinary, striding down the hallway and dragging something behind him.

Only after looking a second time he identified the thing as a person, huddelt into a fluffy blanket and clutching a bright pink and flower-shaped cushion as their king. The glare thorin gave him was not to be misunderstood. Still, how was anyone able to take their leader seriously after seeing him like this ?!

Shoving the rest of the sandwich into his mouth he poked Bifur in the back. The old warrior spun around and the axe in his head gleamed in the low light. Letting loose a wave of rapid Khuzdul he picked up a pebble and threw it across the hallway at Gloin, who was currently talking to Balin.

Gloin reacted as expected. Angrily he turned around to look for the person who was responsible for interrupting his chat with the king’s advisor. Before he could utter a curse his eyes locked onto the scene right in front of him. Dwalin, dragging what looked like a pink-reddish lump of clothes behind him towards the main gate. The pebble surely couldn’t have hit him that hard!

Balin on the other side only buried his face in his hands. He was used to seeing his brother doing impulsive and sometimes rather stupid things, as he had always been there to help him out in the end an straighten things out. But this was a first in case of stupidity and impulsiveness. Dwalin had to see how to get out of this mess afterwards all on his own.

~

Bilbo stopped abruptly in his movement. He had rushed to the front gate as soon as the raven had delivered the message that the rest of the company and two other people were making their way towards the mountain. He didn’t want to wait any longer to finally see Bofur again. Surely he would get an ear full, cause he had left his dwarf behind and didn’t wake him in time. But at that time Bilbo was rather fond of the idea to at least assure Bofur to survive the wrath of the dragon.

Bofur, still holding the hobbits hand, was forced to stop as well. Questioning he followed the line of sight of his beloved. With the utmost of his will and control he was able to disguise his laughter as mere coughing. Bilbo’s elbow in his ribs made him turn towards the hobbit again, he also couldn’t contain his wide grin. For the dignified leader of the company to be dragged through his own mountain at that!

Bilbo’s amusement vanished and was replaced with worry and sorrow. For a moment there he had forgotten the reason for the king’s odd behavior. Bofur frowned, there seemed to be more to this situation than they all had let on.

“* Kidhuzel , what is the matter?” concerned he lightly squeezed the hand holding his.

“I’ll tell you the story behind that in a bit,” Bilbo promised him, before moving on.

(*gold of gold)

~

Oin had stayed with Bard and Tauriel to chat some more about medicinal herbs after reassuring himself that the two princes and especially Kili were alright to go on on their own. The elven woman had fussed some more over the dark haired prince, but respected the decision that she would have to wait outside.

Kili still leaned on his older brother even though he tried his best to walk on his own. Facing down he made sure not to trip over anything and to burden Fili any further. Strangely enough the floor was sparkly clean aside from the trail of mud the others must have left behind.

To his own surprise the front gate was almost unscratched and not missing as he had assumed from his uncle's stories. Even more, it was warm inside and the hallways were lit! There was no foul smell of dragon or whatever he might have left behind. It felt almost homely and welcoming. The others had accomplished so much in such a short amount of time! He could do nothing else but be astonished by their capability.

Fili stopped abruptly and nearly let his brother slide from his shoulder. Luckily Kili was quick enough and steadied himself before kissing the floor.

“By the beard of-” looking up, Kili had wanted to lecture his older brother on how to properly handle hurt and ill dwarrows, but stopped himself.

There must be some poison left inside his system, which made him hallucinate once more. No other explanation was reasonable or possible. With his free, left hand he rubbed his eyes. Still there.

Pinching Fili’s arm he tried to wake himself. The immediate response, a light jab in his stomach assured him that this was real.

Not being able to take his eyes off of the unreal scene in front of him he wasn’t able to see the unbelieving look in Filis eyes and how the blond prince's jaw seemed to drop even further.

“Uncle… is that really you?!” Kili was not entirely sure if he was seeing things or if this was reality, but either way, it was hilarious.

He couldn’t wait to write to his mother about it! This would provide them with amusement and embassesment from the king till forever! Fili also seemed to have overcome the shock. Leaning onto his older brother Kili could feel the faint shaking, which got stronger by the second, signing that Fili was trying his best to hold in his laughter.

A sly grin appeared on Kili’s lips. He would certainly have to help his older brother, no? With a hearty jab of his elbow he forced the first prince to break into laughter. Not able to hold in his own amusement he joined in and filled the halls with their voices. Even the deathly glare Thorin was rather known and feared for couldn’t stop them. The pink cushion and the blanket he was wrapped into made him look rather ridiculous than intimidating.

~

“I brought the king.”

Tauriel’s face turned to stone, expressionless as only elves were capable of, while Bard tried his best to keep his mouth shut, the face strangely red as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Confused Oin turned around, the rather worn trumpet in his hand. What was going on?

@jumpingmanatee @tschrist1 @savvy-the-human @ayamenimthiriel @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @animestuff123 @blankethalfling @all-seeing-storm @nightmarewalker @lunasnow20 @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @chocolateintolerant @givashel @shrimpsthings @grunid @swagbearfishturkey @angelic-kisses13 @nickangle13

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Footprints in the Sand

Part 10: Start a War

Summary/Author's Note: TWO MONTHS. Two fucking months Oberyn was silent in my head and y’all suffered for it. I just knew everyone would stop caring about this fic because I let you all down but I posted that it was coming back and my inbox and DMs have been BLOWING UP all fucking night. I love you guys and I am very emotional. Enjoy. 

We had to have just a little drama but of course I would never keep our main three from going to Dorne. Oberyn knows perfectly well that there will be consequences to his actions--he does not care. We are officially in double digits people?? This is unreal. Also, please listen to this song to get the feeeeeeel of what’s going on. 

Pairing: Oberyn x Ellaria x Lannister!Reader Word Count: 4.1k Warnings/ratings: 18+/R - Distress, Sad!Oberyn (this was hard to write but I fixed it), murder, throat slashing, Oberyn is angry and reckless.

[Parts] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]  [MASTERLIST]

The waves crashed against the rocks with as much gentleness as was possible for the crags of King’s Landing. The air was cold, but the sky a crisp blue as the sun started to peak over the water. It was a good day for sailing, a good day for travel, and most importantly a good day for going home. Oberyn leaned on one of the posts on the boardwalk leading out into the waters as he watched his soldiers ready the ship. He held the slip of parchment in his fist, torn between crumpling it, re-reading it for the hundredth time, or throwing it into the ocean. 

‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’

Six words. After this week was that all they meant to you? The note was signed at the bottom with your name but he couldn’t believe it. His guts churned with the idea that what the three of you had shared in the brothel could be summed up in such a small note. He crushed it in his fist again and swallowed the lump in his throat as he tossed it into the sea. He watched it float down to the surface before getting swallowed by a wave and wished it was the sorrow he felt instead.

“My love?”

Oberyn looked over his shoulder as Ellaria came to stand behind him and put her hand on his sleeve, the other gripped his bicep as she bowed her head to kiss his shoulder. Her eyes were red and despite the stern, stoic way she held her body he knew she had spent most of the morning with silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She had put most of her energy into ignoring their existence, and he didn’t dare bring attention to them.

“I thought she’d come,” Oberyn said flatly as he looked back out onto the horizon.

“So did I,” she whispered against his cloak.

He knew it had been quick, a passion spurred on by spite and excitement, but he thought despite the amount of time, there was a certain kinship between you. The idea of not belonging in one place, of wanting to see what wonders the world held--they could give that to you. That and so much more. All it required of you was a leap of faith and yet you were choosing to stay with the Lannisters.

Looking back to the city, looming in the twilight of the morning, it was as if he was waiting for you to come running over the hill. If it was possible, he would stand here and wait as long as he had to.

"I vow to worship your body with my mouth, hands, and cock, every night once we're in Dorne." “Promise?”

He had made you that promise against that table in the library with his cock buried inside of you and you had called him your prince. Had it all been for nothing? Was it just a pretty sentiment said in the height of ecstasy? The thought made a twinge of pain blossom in his chest and he pushed it deep into the background of his subconscious. If you truly didn’t want to go to Dorne, if you didn’t want Ellaria, if you didn’t want..him--he wanted to hear it come from your own lips.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he rubbed his beard in thought. “Who did you say brought the note?”

“I don’t know,” Ellaria answered honestly. “Your men said the messenger was wearing Lannister colors.”

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Oberyn stood up straight and walked towards the plank ramp that was leading up to his ship. He stopped the captain of his guard with a gesture of his hand and the man stood at attention with his hand on his scimitar. “Change of plans.”

“But, my prince--” the man looked startled as he faced him. “We’re almost ready to set sail.”

“Then you’ll be ready when I return.” Oberyn held up his hand and stopped another of the guards from walking one of the horses up the ramp.

“Return?” Ellaria spoke up and turned Oberyn to face her instead. “What are you doing?”

“She didn’t write that, Ellaria--”  

“Oberyn--”

“Someone else did.”

“Listen to yourself--”

“My gut is never wrong. She’s in trouble--”

“Oberyn!” Ellaria grabbed both of his upper arms tightly, digging her fingers into the fabric of his yellow sleeves as she fought the urge to shake him. “I thought she would come, as well. I’m heartbroken that she--” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “That she doesn’t want us. But what are you going to do? Storm the Red Keep with a handful of men? And what if you’re wrong--what then?”

“I’m not wrong. And I don’t need a handful of men--I have me.” He gave her waist a squeeze in return and leaned forward to capture her lips and kiss her hard. It was brief, but it caught her off guard just enough to release her hold on him as he walked around her to the horse.

“Don’t do this,” Ellaria pleaded once she recovered, but it fell on deaf ears. Oberyn was many things, but with his fearlessness often came a stupidity that Ellaria knew was going to put her in an early grave.

“Captain,” Oberyn addressed the man from before as he undid his traveling cloak and tossed it to one of the other soldiers.

“Your grace?” The stoic man stood up straighter and gave a nod of attention.

“No one, except myself, is allowed on this ship. You are to stay with my paramour and keep her safe at all costs, do you understand?” Oberyn gave him a very serious gaze and the other man nodded.

“I’m coming with you,” Ellaria protested, but Oberyn shook his head as he grabbed the horn of the saddle and hoisted himself up onto the animal with a swing of his leg.

“No,” He said curtly, rubbing his hand along hers on his knee to soften the sting of his words. “You are correct in saying I will not be able to take the Keep by force. I’m going to go get her, and come back unseen--I need you ready to sail the moment our feet touch the deck.”

“This will have consequences.”

“Everything we do always does.”

She bit her lip and lowered her dark eyes at him. There was no arguing with him. He had clearly made up his mind. “Be careful.”

He grinned and gave her a nod. “I always am.”

“If that were true, I would worry less,” She said. He chuckled before clicking his tongue and spurring the horse forward back across the dock and back into the city.

--

It was early enough in the city square that barely anyone was in the streets. The shops and carts were still closed and the morning air was the cold, crisp kind that seemed to permeate one’s lungs and make them feel clean. The metal shoes of the horse clopped softly as Oberyn turned the reins and clicked his tongue again leading the animal down an alleyway.

The shadows swallowed him as he moved along the wall and pulled the animal up short, dismounting gracefully. He moved the reins up over the animal’s head and tied the leather straps to a beam that was protruding from the stone walls.

He knew the tower that held the servants quarters and the one that had held the bedchambers for the Lannisters when Elia had been queen. Ellaria would have skinned him alive if she had known that was what he was basing his entire plan off of--a memory of the castle layout that was the better part of a decade old.

He ran his hand along the damp stones of the wall that led down the alley and around the larger part of the tower. There were no guards to be seen, as they were no doubt guarding the doors, but he wasn’t looking for a door--he was looking for a window. He looked up, carefully pulling a bit of the mortar that held the stones in place from the wall and crumbled it between his fingers. Humming his approval, he pulled his dagger from the sheath on his side and reached up as high as he would and started digging one of the bricks loose.

He put his dagger away and grabbed the self-made foothold tightly before hoisting himself up to the metal sconce that held one of the Lannister banners on the side of the wall. With careful, meticulous planning, he found something to hold onto, one right after the other, up the side of the tower. A gap in the bricks, a stone that was slightly larger than the rest, it all served the same purpose. His arms and shoulders ached with the repeated motion of pulling his weight up but he pressed on.

He climbed to where the tower met one of the breezeways of the garden and used it as an opportunity to take a break and reassess. His boots dropped down on the roof of the apex of the tower and movement caught his eye. 

The window directly above him, where he was betting your bedroom was was open. But what was odd was the rope that was hanging down from it, blowing gently in the breeze. No, that wasn’t a rope, that was a long line of bed linens knotted together. The realization made him smirk as he searched the courtyard below for signs of movement.

“Clever woman,” he chuckled quietly to himself.

Staying low, he walked the spine of the roof along the perimeter of the courtyard until he got to the end and looked over into another dark alley. Whatever gods were looking down on him that day, were doing so favorably because just like he had hoped, there you were. You hugged the wall of the alley much like he had, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. Not only were you not wearing a dress, leather riding breeches took the place of lacy skirts, but your hair was tucked carefully under the dark hood of your cloak. To the average person walking by, you looked ordinary, easy to miss, unless someone was really looking.

He turned his back to the alley and gripped the edge of the roof, lowering his body down as far as it would go before releasing his grip. His boots made a firm thud on the cobblestone behind you and he moved swiftly, putting one arm around your waist and the other over your mouth. Just as he expected, you tried to scream against his hand but he was quick to speak against your hair.

“It’s me, it’s me--”

You turned in his arms and he loosened his grip enough to let you. The look of utter relief on your face was enough to make his chest tight. He grinned and tucked a strand of your hair back into the safety of your hood.

“Oberyn..”

He let out a grunt and braced his knees as you threw your arms around his neck and put your face against his shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around your back and he dipped his head to kiss you softly.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” he said, quietly.

"How did you know to come? I thought you were supposed to sail this morning before dawn. I was worried I would be too late."

“We are--but I knew something was wrong. I knew you didn’t send that note.” he rubbed his hands up and down your arms as if to keep you warm and convince himself that you were indeed real.

“What note?” You asked, a flash of fear crossing through your eyes followed quickly by realization. “Cersei--she said that she was going to send word to you and Ellaria that I had changed my mind.”

“She did,” he nodded. “But it wasn’t very convincing.” He winked and you gave a sigh of relief and hugged him again. "If you don't wish to go to Dorne, I expect to hear it from your own lips."

"No--" you blurted out and put your hand to your mouth, looking around the alleyway for any signs of another person. "No, I want to go--I want you, and Ellaria."

He smiled then and let his large hand cup the side of your face, allowing you to lean into his touch as he backed you up against the stone wall and kissed you deeply. "I was hoping that's what you would say." He whispered against your lips and you put your hands on his chest, gripping his tunic. He allowed himself to indulge for only a moment before he pulled back and said to the space between you, "We need to go. Ellaria is waiting and I fear the longer we wait, our odds of getting caught only increase."

You nodded quickly. "Cersei gave the order that if anyone wearing Martell colors came to the castle, they were to be killed on sight--especially you and Ellaria."

"Did she now? Well, that might make things interesting." He chuckled, but it held no joy, it was a noise of spiteful entertainment. "Come on," he grabbed your hand and walked ahead of you, keeping the majority of your body behind him.

The two of you hurried along the wall and you let Oberyn guide you down the alley and around the corner as he clearly retraced his steps. He stopped abruptly, almost causing you to collide with his back as he spotted his horse, now being inquisitively observed by two of the king's guard. They carefully untied the beast from its tether to the wall and looked at one another in confusion. Two against one? Those were favorable odds in his eyes.  

"Stay here," he said, planting you against the bricks with a firm hand on each of your arms.

"Oberyn--Obr--fuck." You tried to protest but he was already gone.

He moved like his nickname implied, swift and silent, like a snake in the sand. He grabbed the hilt of his dagger and pulled it from his belt, his hand wrapped securely around it as he reached the two guards. They never stood a chance as the prince grabbed the taller one by the back of the helmet, jerked his head backwards, and wrapped his arm around the front of him to run the blade across his throat in a dramatic display of red. The horse whinnied and reared back, taking a few steps away from the group of men.

“Stop!” The other guard yelled, as his comrade fell to his knees and then face down, unmoving on the stone.

The command didn’t do any of good, as Oberyn rushed him before he could pull his long sword. The Prince raised his knee and kickied the long sword from his hand with a clang. Oberyn used the momentum and slammed him up against the brick stones, the man tried to scream and he drove the blade of his dagger into his open mouth, through the back of his head, pinning him against the bricks. Your hand flew to your mouth, muffling an involuntary noise of shock as you watched the man’s body twitch, resembling a butterfly pinned to a board in a Maester’s laboratory.

Oberyn leaned in, gripping the man’s hair as blood poured down his chin and he fought his body’s urge to close his mouth around the blade. Any screams he may have made were strangled around the steel as he looked at his attacker with horrified eyes.

“You can keep the dagger,” Oberyn said quietly, close to the man’s face, as he traced his finger down the detailed snake on the hilt. “I want Jaime and the queen to know I was here.”

He looked back at you, expecting to see horror on your face, disgust, regret, anything that would have you second guessing your decision to go with him now that you had seen such a thing. But you were a Lannister, and when he extended his hand to you, you took it willingly. He pulled you behind him only dropping your hand long enough to hoist himself up onto the horse and reach back down to lift you up as well.

You put your hands in the mane of the animal as one of his arms came around the front of your body and held your back tightly against his chest. He dug the heels of his boots into the haunches of the horse and it bolted, thundering hooves against the stone. It was no longer about being quiet. It was about being quick, and putting as much distance between the you and King’s landing as possible.

The two of you rode hard and fast through the streets of the city. People waking up for the day and starting to open up their homes and shops looked at you with curious speculation but you moved too swiftly for much else. Oberyn’s arm was a comforting weight along your stomach and you put one of your hands over it, leaning back into his chest to ground yourself against the jerking of the horse as it galloped.

The minute the docks came into view you felt like you could breathe again. Your chest ached from the anticipation of being unable to see your destination but it was the image of Ellaria standing tall at the edge of the ship that made you want to burst into tears. She looked absolutely stunning, in her burnt orange robes, soft dark leather bodice and matching riding trousers. She was a siren on the water, and she was waiting to call both of you home.

“Sails!” She yelled, over her shoulder to the men behind her and Oberyn’s captain nodded in agreement before moving to make sure everyone within earshot followed her orders.

Your body jerked as Oberyn steered the stallion up the ramp to the ship and jumped it over the edge onto the deck with a loud thud. He let the animal slow to a trot as its chest heaved from the exertion and it blew loud breaths through its nostrils. He pulled up on the leather reins and came to a stop just as the ship shoved off from the port and Ellaria picked up her robes and came running down off of the quarterdeck.

No sooner had Oberyn released you to slip from the saddle and to the ground did she have you gathered in her arms. Your hood fell and she put her hands in your hair and kissed you. “Thank the gods,” she breathed against your mouth and you smiled, a few tears of relief forming in the corners of your eyes.

Oberyn swung his leg and jumped down, handing the beast off to one of his men before turning a fond grin upon the two of you. “I do believe I told you so.”

“Not now,” she chastised him with a smile and a shake of her head but she kept her gaze on you. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Ellaria--” you swallowed hard and took her hands in yours and gripped them tightly. “I didn’t--I would never have left..”

“I know, I know, sweet girl,” she brushed your hair back from her face and nodded. “Oberyn knew. You’re safe.” She kissed you again and drew you into her body, resting her chin on your shoulder and looking at Oberyn standing behind you. “What have we done?” she asked with a smile, her tone saying full well that the consequences didn’t matter.

“With any luck,” he shrugged and rubbed his chin as a smirk overtook his face. “We started a war.”

--

You had no idea just how long you had been on the open water, the days all seemed to run together. The sun rose, the sun set, and as far as the eye could see was just blue water that blended with blue skies. Your fingers twisted idly in the chain of your mother’s necklace that sat nestled between your breasts inside of your bodice--the only worldly possession you had made sure to grab when fleeing the Red Keep. Your lovers had assured you that their first task in Dorne would be to buy you everything you needed, but none of that seemed to matter that much.

The whole feeling of getting further and further away from your old life in King’s Landing seemed surreal. The idea that you didn’t have to return to Casterly Rock didn’t feel like it could possibly be true, but it was. As you stood on the bow of the ship with your hands on the railing and the wind in your hair, you knew that it was true--there was no going back.

Solidly strong arms slid around your waist as sun kissed skin nosed your neck and you leaned back against the solid chest of Oberyn Martell. You had been so caught up in your thoughts, that you hadn’t heard his boots on the planks behind you.

“How is she?” you asked quietly and he spoke as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“She’s fine,” he heaved a sigh when you reached back to put your hand in his hair. “Finally asleep--hopefully she stays that way for a while.”

True to what she had told you in the brothel, as soon as the ship broke the waters of the open ocean, Ellaria had become almost violently sea sick. She had spent the majority of the trip with her entire body over the wooden rails, Oberyn and you taking turns holding her long, dark curls out of the way as she emptied her stomach until there was nothing left. She refused to eat, and when she finally caved and allowed even the smallest morsel to pass her lips, it wound up back in the water a few hours later.

“I feel awful for her.”

“It happens every time,” he said, trying to ease your concerns. “It is a small price to pay to see the world--her words, my dear, not mine.”

You nod and keep your eyes on the horizon as he moves your hair to the side. The action bares your neck to him and your eyes close slowly as you feel his lips start a trail at your shoulder.

“Did you ever send word to your family?” You asked finally, putting your hands over his on your abdomen.

“No,” he answered flatly. “I thought I’d let it be a surprise.”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Your voice was chastising and it made him nip your neck and chuckle when you jumped.

“I’m a Prince of Dorne,” he continued. “You need to get used to that. You don’t need to ask permission anymore.” He kissed up to the shell of your ear and whispered. “What’s our rule?”

The action caused you to shiver and you squeezed his hand. “Don’t apologize.”

“Exactly. Most people spend their entire lives making excuses and apologies for the things they truly desire--we are not most people.” One of his hands slid up from your waist to cup your breast through your bodice as he licked a slow, wet line down the side of your throat.

“Oberyn…” you bit your lip and let out a shaky breath before briefly glancing over your shoulder to make sure none of his men had their attention on the two of you. “Stop--” you moved his hand from your breasts and back to your waist.

“As you wish,” he grinned against your skin and went back to resting his chin on your shoulder and looking out at the water. “But the second we get settled in our chambers in the palace--you and Ellaria are both mine.”

“Our chambers?” you asked, turning your head to smile at him and he hummed in agreement.

“Of course. Unless you’d rather sleep elsewhere?” he teased and chuckled as you shook your head. He was quiet for a few moments before he squeezed you gently, moving one of his arms to point across the horizon. “Look, my love.”

Your gaze followed his arm and your heart raced as the horizon broke to show that there was indeed land on the other side of the world. The smile that broke across your face was so wide that it almost hurt. Unlike the shore of King’s landing and Casterly Rock, there were no cliffs, no crags, no ragged edges to dull the beauty of the waves and darken the landscape. No, this was very different. The sandy beaches were warm and inviting, the foam from each crest of the waves broke against the shoreline and rolled back to let the sunlight sparkle off of the surface. You wanted to jump into the water, to feel the sand against your skin, to immerse yourself in what was to be your new home.

As if sensing your thoughts, Oberyn lowered his voice and spoke against your hair, “Welcome to Dorne, Lioness.”

--

[Next Chapter]

PERM TAG LIST

@rae-gar-targaryen @zeldasayer @stevieharrrr @winters-buck @gooddaykate @jigglemiwa @seawhisperer @halefirewarrior @ripleyafterdark @phoenixhalliwell @thebakerstboyskeeper @honestlystop @lackofhonor @readsalot73 @cryptkeepersoul @skdubbs @sendhoots @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @googiebeankat @dinohaze @saltywintersoldat @huliabitch @silver-lined-solitude @tainted-gay-ghost @roxypeanut @@hayley-the-comet @domino-oh-damn @manda-but-not-lorian @maybege @corvueros @thea-cartier @pettyprocrastination @qveenbvtch @hopplessdreamer   @apples-of-february​ @pocket-of-anxiety​ @marie-is-in-the-dark @agentpike​ @pascalplease​ @cosmicbug379​         @your-pixels-are-showing @gamingaquarius​ @blushingwueen​ @crimsonandwhiteprincess  @bluemoon-glen​ @river-soul​ @robbinholland

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND:

@earthtokace​ @tarrevizslas 

 @shrew1999 @sabinemorans @talesfromtheguild @leahnicole1219 @coredrive @twomoonstwosuns @ghostlywhisperssong​ @luosymekawa​ @shippers-heart​ @auty-ren​ @notawhitegirlblog​ 

@asgardianvamp21​ @saffiter​ @c-ly-g​ @snivellusim​ @coffeeandtodd​ @taengooz @hun-gary​ @le-roman-rose @bookshelvesandteacups​ @a-killvr-queen​ @mad-red @lostinwonderland314​ @emwriterblur @sydnubabu​ @demoncrypt1066​ @nerdysuperchick @lokiaddicted​ @valhallavalkyrie9​ @angstytoddd @colourmeinblue @maybege​ @mp0625​ @that-chick212 @gooddaykate @whiskeyxinxaxteacup @thesadvampire @xxlovingfandomsxx @little-ms-fandom @forever-rogue @coredrive @twomoonstwosuns  @space-floozy @okilover02 @arrowswithwifi @ms-dont-care @fantasticchaoticwho @gamingaquarius​ @cathym99​ @valeecruz16​

--If there is a strike through your tag, it means Tumblr is not letting me tag you. Please please please let me know if you wish to be tagged, untagged, if I missed you, spelled something wrong, or if you would like to be added to the PERM tag list. <3 <3 I finally got a better tagging system and I’m working on perfecting it. 

[tealin]

Cape Crozier: The Spiritual Journey

As usual, please check out http://twirlynoodle.com/blog to see this post and others in their original (functioning) formatting.

Since getting seriously into polar history, I kept hearing the same two things from polar veterans.  One was that I could not possibly understand the story properly, or be able to depict it truthfully, unless I visited Antarctica myself.  The other was that Antarctica changes people.  This was unanimous amongst scientists, historians, and even tourists: one cannot help but be profoundly affected by contact with Antarctica; that is just a fact of the place.

I have certainly been changed by Antarctica indirectly.  The inner kernel of “me” is the same in my earliest memories as now, but the Terra Nova men and their experiences have fundamentally shifted how that kernel views and relates to the world and the people around me.  I am a vastly better person for their influence, and that is a large part of why I have been so dogged in getting their story to a new audience: the hope that, through my work, even one other person might be changed in the same way.

When I finally got the chance to visit Antarctica in person, I had half an eye out for signs something had happened.  Two weeks into my visit, I had learned a lot and had some meaningful experiences, but I couldn't say I had changed at all.  Maybe that initial action-at-a-distance was the change I had been promised after all.

Then I went to Cape Crozier.

As we have spread around the planet, humans have noted certain places as being special in some way, places of some sort of power, or where the spirit world is a little more tangible.  The Celts called these 'thin places', where the fabric of reality is threadbare, and Something Else comes a little closer.  One can have a 'thin' experience anywhere, but certain places seem to encourage them.  They may remain completely unmarked, or may become loci for centuries of pilgrimage, or anything in between, but they exist in some form in every culture except, perhaps, the post-Enlightenment intellectual West.

Antarctica, generally, feels like where the edge of a painting dissolves into brushstrokes. There is a certain unreality baked-in: the sun wheels around the sky without setting, one can count on one hand the species of life regularly seen, and everything – the landscape, the weather, the distances – is so vastly out of proportion to puny humanity.  One could argue that this 'unfinished' feeling is because so much of it is white, but I have travelled through many snow-covered landscapes, and they feel like landscapes covered in snow, not fundamentally blank places with a few suggestive details dropped in by an artist whose main attention was elsewhere.

Cape Crozier was something else entirely, though.  It is, of course, hanging off the edge of Ross Island, but it felt more like it was hanging off the edge of reality itself.  It is a thin place par excellence.  And I had an experience there which I have been trying to process since landing back at McMurdo.  When I tried to discuss it with friends, my ability to speak quite simply stopped.  Then the pandemic, and the new house, and pushing through Vol.1, all rose up and drove it to the back of my mind.  In February I wasn't ready to talk about it; here in October, I worry it's too late.  But I feel compelled to share what happened there, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I ever will.

If this were a novel, at Cape Crozier I would have felt the thinness of time, and a closer connection to the dead men I had followed there – perhaps almost to believe they weren't dead at all!  In such a place, that didn't seem impossible.  But that is not what happened.  Nor did I have some sort of enlightenment beamed into my head from the heavens.  Even the word 'happened' is too suggestive of some sort of discrete external event.  If you had asked me, there, at the time, I'd have said I was just sitting there thinking. But I sit thinking a lot in life, and this was not the sort of thinking I am used to.  It was more like a revelation.  Not in the trumpets and angels sense, but in a literal one: layers of clutter and gloss were pulled back to reveal a simple underlying truth.  It was, in essence, a dose of perspective, a view from high and far enough away to see the big picture, and not the surface detail.  As I sat at the base of a boulder, gazing at the stone igloo and gawking at how completely insane were the men who dragged their sledges to this desolate nowhere to build it, I suddenly saw my life as it appeared in the Author's notes.

Ever since first getting the inkling that this story would make a good graphic novel, it has felt like a calling.  I said 'no' to the calling for years – some sort of cosmic wrong number – but when I finally said 'yes' everything started falling into place.  That is supposed to be a good sign, for a calling.  And I was happy following it, though it wasn't easy or comfortable.  As far as I could deduce, under my own power, it seemed like what I ought to be doing.  That is not to say there weren't doubts, especially in the grey light of a winter morning when I would lie in my rented bed, looking at my desk and wondering what on earth I was doing with my life.  And I was not untroubled by other concerns: Shouldn't I be more helpful to my family? Why have I been persistently unable to find a tribe, or a relationship?  Will I be allowed to stay in the UK?  Can I do this work and keep myself fed and housed?

Here, on a wind-scoured ridge on the edge of nowhere, reflecting on its history of unbelievable and, it could be argued, pointless hardship, one might expect to realise the folly of one's ways, and to swear off quixotic enterprises in favour of the hitherto unappreciated quotidian stuff that really matters.  But that is not what happened.  Instead, I got this dose of clarity:

I am here to tell this story.  Not here, at Cape Crozier, in this instant (although that too), but here, on this planet, as a human being.  This is what I am for.

Whatever I need to make it happen will be provided.  No less, and no more.

Everything else?  Tangential.  Not worth worrying about.  What needs to happen, will happen, and if it doesn't happen, it didn't need to.  And that's OK.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

When I was young, we had a puzzle of the United States of America.  It was made of Masonite, and the pieces were cut out in the shapes of the states, which would be assembled to fill the recessed outline of the country.  Because they were geographical shapes and not interlocking jigsaw pieces, they would slide and rattle around until the last one got wedged in and locked everything else in place.

Most of my life, I have felt like that rattly puzzle.  I didn't realise it because I had never known there was another way to be.  But there under the boulder it felt like that last piece had been dropped in, that secured all the loose ones.  It was not that Cape Crozier was my missing piece and now that I had it I was complete – that is far too literal.  The missing piece was a something that wasn't even a thing; rather, in that moment of clarity, I felt all the jangling bits come to rest, and a wholly unfamiliar solidity.  At last the clay wobbling around the potter's wheel had been centred, and I felt a metaphysical ground beneath my metaphysical feet that I had not known it was possible to feel.

Ironically, the rest of the day I felt like I wasn't touching the actual ground at all, perhaps because what I was anchored to was on another plane entirely.  The stumbling shamble through the wind back to the helicopter might as well have been happening to someone else.  We took off into the gale, and though the pilot acted as though it was perfectly ordinary, when we were rounding the ridge he said 'wow, that's the rotor all the way to the left' which I didn't understand but didn't sound great.  Nevertheless the sense of peace persisted, and I understood how, in his last letter to his wife, which he knew would be his last, Wilson could have kept insisting 'all is well.'  (I knew why he wrote that: he had read Julian of Norwich.  But now I understood why.)

The journey back was a transcendence all of its own, the beauty of which seemed to be a perfectly natural outward manifestation of that altered state.  We touched down in time for me to make it to the Galley just as it opened for dinner, so we couldn't have been gone two whole hours, and that seemed absurd to me – surely I had sat under that boulder for two hours at least?  Or had we only been at the igloo ten minutes?  It was impossible to tell.

What I wanted more than anything was to go up a mountain and ponder the whole thing, alone, until it sorted itself out and I was ready to come back down again.  I could have gone up Observation Hill, but the weather looked liable to turn into a proper blizzard at any moment.  So, lacking a better option, I went to go eat, and, after having a chuckle at the Cherry Turnovers, slunk to the back where I could usually count on having a small wallflower table to myself, especially this early.  But one of the larger tables was full of young dudes talking about bar fights they'd been involved in, and I just … couldn't.  So I wandered into the main area and discovered the One Strange Rock crew having an early dinner as well, begged a spot at their table, and ate swaddled in friendly natter instead of at one with the universe in a blizzard.  It amounted to much the same thing.

Eventually one of them said, 'You went to Cape Crozier today, didn't you? How was that?'

I made an exploding gesture around my head and said 'Pkhhhh.'

Cherry wrote that the Winter Journey 'had beggared our language'.  I am sure that my inarticulate gesture is not what he meant.  But at the same time, in fact at that very dinner, I realised something about his writing.  The Winter Journey chapter is unanimously regarded as the finest part of The Worst Journey in the World.  Some people question that this otherwise unremarkable country gent, who never produced another book, could have written with such profound and expressive talent, and they posit that his friend and neighbour George Bernard Shaw, who definitely did consult on the book, must have ghostwritten it.  I have read enough of Cherry's writing – in his own hand – to know this is bosh; the voice and the style are distinctly his.  What's more, I was surprised to discover, when going through his journals, that a large portion of the Winter Journey chapter was not written last, despite it being the last to join the manuscript of Worst Journey, but was in fact written in his bunk at Cape Evans while he was recuperating from the experience.  In the published book, he singles out some passages as being from 'my own diary' but great tracts of unattributed narration are more or less verbatim quotations as well.  The experience related therein feels so immediate because it was.

The rest of Worst Journey, while perfectly readable, is largely a narrative rewrite of Cherry's and others' diaries.  Sometimes he lets others carry the story for pages at a time.  His writing is undeniably good, but is often simply mortar, filling gaps and binding sources together to tell a history that no human invention could better.  The Winter Journey chapter, on the other hand, reads like a torrent of pure inspiration pouring through him onto the page.  That such vivid, timeless prose should have come from an exhausted 25-year-old in his bunk in a wooden hut is no less remarkable than from a jaded 35-year-old in the library of his country house.

Artists of all stripes will often say that their best work is not their own creation, but feels like it already existed and came through them from somewhere else. It's as if there's a great Beyond where things that need to come into the world – stories, images, performances – queue up for passage through artists' minds and bodies.  Sometimes one taps into it by luck; usually it's a combination of training and discipline that makes the link traversable, from time to time.  Perhaps artists' minds are their own thin places, in a way.  Sitting there at dinner with my friends, I felt as though I'd brushed against the fabric between this reality and that Beyond, and, like touching the wall of a tent in a rainstorm, broken the surface tension and allowed something through.  I felt like, if I just put pencil to paper, something could flow through me, if only I could narrow down a subject.  With the intensity of his experience, Cherry did not so much brush against the wet tent fabric as punch a hole through it; feeling just a small inkling of that myself, it was no wonder that the creative energy poured into his diary with such intuitive eloquence.

Had I sat down to write this that night, perhaps I could have tapped into that flow, but I didn't feel I was ready.  I can guarantee you that right now I am not tapped into anything but a vague and dwindling recollection.  As vast as the experience was, by putting a box of words around it, I cannot help but reduce it to the confines of the box.  But that is the best I can do under my own power.

Compared to the seismic transformation of character brought about by my first vicarious encounter with Antarctica, the insight at Cape Crozier was very small and personal, but once in place, the ramifications have been substantial.  When I arrived back home, just before Christmas, the world was still as it ever was, but I was different, and I noticed how differently I related to everything.  Things I loved about Cambridge, which previously made me desperate to stay, I appreciated no less, but valued instead as something I had the honour to enjoy for a while, and didn't need to hold on to.  A young-adults group which I'd hung around, formerly a precious simulacrum of a social life, now felt hollow, and I abandoned it in favour of time spent one-on-one with the handful of people who I really appreciated.  They all said I seemed different; one person said I seemed 'sad', but I think I had just taken the mask off the seriousness which tends to frighten people. I have never been afraid to be myself, but in recent years have tried to mitigate that self in relation to others; there seemed no point to that, now.  It was as if my inner gyroscope had finally started spinning, and I had a sense of balance and orientation that I hadn't before.

Holding on to the clarity of that moment, and the centredness it brought me, has not been easy.  It didn't keep me from panicking when my housemate excoriated me back in March.  It didn't focus my mind on my work as soon as I'd moved into the new place, or save me from getting angry and frustrated when battling my tax returns.  Sometimes it's very hard to remember at all.  But I know what happened, and I can remember remembering, even if I can't recapture the feeling itself.  Sometimes, when it's very windy, I seek out a high open place in the hope of feeling it again, but it hasn't worked.  Maybe it doesn't need to.  Having it once was all I really needed, and even if I succeeded in flicking those switches again, what good would it do that hasn't already been done?

I could not foresee, on that windswept ridge on the edge of reality, where the world would be in 2020.  In wry moments I think I was only a few months ahead of a large portion of humanity, who have been forced to sort things out when the pandemic stripped away their preoccupations and illusions.  Maybe you are one of them, and you recognise some of what I've described.  Maybe you feel like you've been running away from it.  Maybe you have been running towards it but have been unable to find it.  All I can tell you is: it's worth the seeking.

I wish everyone in the world could visit Antarctica, even just once, and see how it changes them.  The world would be such a better place.  I am so profoundly grateful that I had the chance, and am determined to pay it forward by bringing some shred of that experience to as many people as possible.  If my communication fails to bridge that gap for you, then take it upon yourself to find your own thin place.  They are all around.  It only requires that you be receptive, and undertake to look.

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me - Chapter Three

After karaoke night and Claire's impromptu performance, both Claire and Jamie spend the next day reconciling with their choices from the night before.

Read on AO3

“Stay, Sassenach! One more drink!” 

“One more drink might be the death of me, Mr. Fraser, and if you’d like to watch me embarrass myself again next week, I can’t be on my deathbed tonight!” 

He had tried to convince her to let him walk her home, but she waved him off and pulled the sweater that had fallen off her shoulder back up to its rightful place at the junction of neck and shoulder -- a place Jamie couldn’t tear himself away from until that moment. She wrangled a loose curl behind her ear, tugged on her coat, and caught Jamie watching her every move, drink at his lips, eyes just over the rim of the glass. She could’ve stayed, could’ve responded, could’ve reacted to what she was feeling right then… no. A couple of hours together in a bar and a poor excuse for a solo at closing time did not change the fact she didn’t know this man. This very handsome man, she reminded herself. No. You came out here for yourself. Leave by yourself.

She met his eyes one last time, gave a nervous laugh, declared “Hope to see you next weekend!” all too loudly, and spun on her heel. She had stepped over the threshold when she thought she heard her name from inside, but she didn’t turn to find out. 

———

Claire realized exactly three things when she awoke the next morning: The sun was shining too brightly, the street musician playing on the corner directly below her bedroom window was playing too loudly, and the memories of the last night with the redhead who loved music and books were coming on too fast. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, he had literally become her waking thoughts. She sat up in bed, still cocooned in a cloud of white cotton sheets and linen comforters. What do you even know about him? Probably not even anything. She pulled herself from the warmth of the bed, her feet landing on a soft oriental rug in shades of blues and greens. His eyes were the colors in this rug. Just like the ocean itself. Okay, she remembered one thing about him. The woven textile gave way to worn hardwood floors, on to cool hexagon tiles lining her bathroom floor as she passed through glass french doors between bookshelves on the wall. 

When Claire inherited her Uncle Lamb’s brownstone, she could remember only one thing about the place from her visits: the upstairs was magical. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was an archaeologist, and although it rarely happened, he had decided he needed a home base to work from. In the historic brownstone, he neglected to update much besides the upper level. As the brownstone was on a corner lot, Lamb declared it must have every window possible to let in the light. Days were too gloomy and cloudy in England, and he would soak up all the light he could while teaching here at Harvard, thank you very much. The most magical room in the entire home (according to both Beauchamps) was lined from front to back with alternating windows and storage -- wide bookshelves on the top, long cabinets on the bottom. The opposite side was almost entirely made of the same bookshelves, save for two sets of french doors leading to a large closet and a larger master bathroom, respectively. The bookshelves traveled up to a curved ceiling, rails and ladders lined the walls to reach the highest and most precious of his belongs (now hers as well). Claire had painted the walls and trim shades of white and cream and ivory. The shelves were stripped and stained with a neutral-tone light wood with white filler. The brass fixtures and ladder rails sparkled in the warm morning light. Claire placed plants wherever she could fit them, and donned the shelves with memories to mingle with the ones Lamb left behind. This room, this place, was her favorite in the whole world. 

Back in the bathroom and walking to the walk-in shower, Claire bent down to reach the sweater she tossed aside the night before. The underside of his hair is this color. Right at the base of his neck, with the extra curls. She shook her head and started the tap. Maybe all his curls would turn that color when he got wet. She turned the faucet as hot as she could stand it, reached an arm for her phone, and set Spotify to only play Blink-182. We’re done with those feelings! No feelings, only the angst possible with punk rock! 

Cold tile brought her down to earth again when she stepped out of the shower, the trails of water dripping down her back and breasts a refreshing break from the onslaught of pounding heat. He felt like a breath of fresh air. Just like this. 

With a towel wrapped around head and a t-shirt tossed on, she made her way back to the bedroom and took a seat on her bed. She desperately wished she had stayed for that last drink. Or at least got his number? Why didn’t I get his number?! Now, she’d have to wait another six days before seeing him again. Maybe her attraction to him was nothing more than lust, but if she could text with him, get to know him better, maybe she could find out. With no way of reaching him, she opted to get dressed and head out to clear her head. Maybe find a place to write? Since her decision to put herself first, she’d put letting off steam by writing and singing. It fell in live with the general creativity that fueled her life, while still being different enough from the greenhouse to give her a bit of rest and peace. As she contemplated where to adventure off that morning and pondered the correct way to lace her Doc Marten boots, her phone rang. A photo of three fresh faces graced her screen, a woman with wild dark curls with her mouth gaping with laughter, another woman with a waterfall of red hair and piercing green eyes made less intimidating by the crinkles at the edges, and a man with deep dimples surrounding his smile and an eyebrow raised in surprise at the camera taking their picture. Claire hit the accept button on the call, and thus the inquisition arrived. 

“We need to talk about last night!” The screen was split in two, with Geillis’ video on top and Joe’s on the bottom with Claire’s in the corner. 

“What about last night? I honestly thought our song was pretty good! I was thinking next week we could do--”

“That’s obviously not what we’re talking about, LJ! But agreed, we did a damn good job.”

“Will you two quit it?” Geillis cut them off and brought her face closer to her screen. “We need to talk about Claire, that viking, and the unreal chemistry. Spill it ALL, Claire.”

———

Jamie had woke nursing a headache, but alas, today would not be the day for rest. He flipped the sign in the window of Fraser Literature from closed to open, and began to check off the list of opening duties. On the list was to water the plants. Set on a table in a small alcove, on top of side table next to an worn leather chair for patrons to sit and peruse a story in, hanging from simple planters in the window that stretched from edge to edge in front of the shop, guarding the aisles of books ready to be enjoyed by people who hadn’t read them yet. Jamie often visited a greenhouse just outside town for the shop’s plants. While a small place, it was teeming with love, peacefulness, and a sense of adventure with green as far as the eye could see, boarding the windows with giant leaves and trailing vines. The feeling inside was something he wanted to emulate in his own place, and so he started adding a wee bit of flora here and there. Rupert and Angus initially laughed off his efforts, claiming Jamie was “destroying the manly vibe” they were aiming for. With every bit of decoration, every little bit of effort however, the shop grew in reputation and success. Jamie was immensely proud of the shop he built, and even more grateful he was able to spend his days surrounded by the words of great men and women, constantly inspired and in awe of the endless stories at his fingertips. 

The boys -- Angus and Rupert, that is -- had brought up the idea of expanding into a few other fine art ideas within the shop. Jamie had been reluctant to agree to anything that wasn’t directly related to literature. As they stood around the front counter, Rupert led the charge: 

“Jamie, man. The people who like books are also the ones who like art and music and such. Why not try to bring them all together?” 

“What if they don’t care about the books? What if they don’t even look at them, and don’t care? What’s the point in having the shop, then?”

It was Angus’ turn to reply with, “Well the point is getting people in the door, and letting your “wee shop” as ye always call it speak for itself, aye?” 

Jamie had to agree with that point. He settled for telling the lads that if they could come up with a suitable idea, he’d agree to it. Twenty minutes later, Angus and Rupert stood in his office doorway saying they would be asking for local musicians to come and perform. 

“Doesn’t seem like yer asking for approval.” 

Jamie didn’t look up from his computer, but could hear the grin in Rupert’s voice as he replied, “‘Tis because ye know it’s a good idea, and ye wouldn’t refuse a good idea.” 

Jamie sat back in the rolling leather chair behind his antique desk and sighed, then laughed. “Why do I even try to control what ye two do? Yer jes’ going to do it anyway.” The lads grinned at each other and shrugged. “Go on then, see if ye can have some posters made up to put in the window.” 

He stood as Rupert saluted him and Angus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Aye aye, captain,” and stretched his long, lean, muscles. He needed to get a few errands completed, so opted to spend the next few hours outside both to complete his tasks and to get out in the fresh air. He told his friends he’d be back soon, and to let them know if he needed anything. 

With one step out into the sunlight, he immediately regretted the amount he had drunk the night before. Two in the morning was not a suitable time to be out, but for the lass with the dark curls and the whisky eyes, he’d give every moment of his time. From the moment he woke, he thought of her. Thought of how she made him laugh. Thought of how bonny she felt under his fingers, her hips on the barstool as she wiggled back into place, her thigh touching his under the booth table. He thought of how she’d gone up on stage as an act of defiance against him for the insult to her friend’s song, but how instead she ended up showing a piece of her soul to him, and him alone. He thought of how her eyes matched the swirling liquid in his glass. He thought of her abrupt departure after he had asked her to stay, and how he almost ran out after. He thought of how he was so incredibly stupid as to not have asked for her number before she ran. Look what ye did -- now ye have to wait to see her, and yer barely functional as it is. While Angus and Rupert had been gauging his interest for the musical talent in his office earlier, he had been searching the Facebook page for the 21st Amendment, combing it for references to her. To Claire. Maybe she had performed there? Perhaps she and her friends had tagged the place in one of their pictures? There was no sign of her, and she hadn’t told him her last name. Six days to go, mate. Ye can do this. She’s just a lass. Ye don’t know her. 

After a few hours of tedious tasks (could the post office ever be efficient, just this once?), he made his way back to Fraser Literature. It was a warm day for autumn, and the shop would have a cart with discount books out on the sidewalk and the door propped open for fresh air. He would never tire of seeing his name on something he built, something he was so proud of. As he neared the shop however, it wasn’t the name on the window that drew his attention -- it was the many people standing inside, facing the window, looking outside. Jamie stopped and looked around, but not finding anything out of place around him. He took a few steps closer. They weren’t looking outside, but rather at the inside corner of the shop, the corner where the window meets the wall. He was only a few steps away when he saw it, when he heard it. A woman with bouncy curls and a round arse, sitting with her back to the window at a keyboard bench. He didn’t have to see her face to know. Her voice was enough. It was enough at two in the morning to imprint on him forever. 

She was there, in his shop. His place. Claire. God, his Claire. 

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, he moved inside his sanctuary.

[dehydratedpool]

hello again!! it’s the beginning of a new month, meaning a new fic rec post!! here are some fics that i read this month that are just... exquisite and deserve all the love and attention <3 

there aren’t as many as last time unfortunately, since i was quite busy this past month, but i promise next month won’t fall short! ((fics that i’ve reread this month are indicated with a **))

Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table [11k] by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or; The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

--> this is a new comfort fic for me tbh. i got rec’d this after louis tweeted about getting his wisdom teeth removed, and i’m so SO glad i decided to give it a read. it’s so precious and lovely and personally, i found it to be a quick read. it’s the kind of fic that makes me both warm and fuzzy inside but also highly upset that i’m single and will surely be alone forever

Just Let Me [14k] by HelloAmHere 

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

--> ok LISTEN. as some of you know, i just recently got into reading a/b/o fics and this one is definitely at the top of my fave a/b/o fics out there. it’s an interesting take on the trope, almost a bit more realistic in my opinion, and to quote the author’s note, “’what if a/b/o but less biological determinism?’”. i believe i found this one through a masterpost of “touch-deprivation fics”, so if that’s your thing, give this one a chance!

my ugly mouth kept running [4k] by theankletattoo @hadestyles

Another seed, another try except they know what caused the first wilt. They will be careful, they will be kind and together they will nurture it to life.

sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

--> rori, the author, never fails to disappoint when it comes to all of her works. i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again, she’s so incredibly fucking talented it’s unreal. her imagery is so vivid and real it leaves simultaneously everything and nothing to the imagination. as usual, h and l’s dynamic in this is an addicting portion to this fic that has you anticipating how their dynamic will shift and grow up until the end. if you’ve yet to read any of rori’s work, i suggest you add that to your to-do list for the month, and get a head start to her collection with this one!

**As Wicked As Anything Could Be [21k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter

It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

--> i discovered this fic a while ago on a whim and i have zero regrets. this is absolutely on my top ten fave fics list (that has yet to exist but perhaps i’ll post it one day). whoknows is a well known author within the fandom, so i’m sure i don’t have to say much about their immense talent, but SERIOUSLY, their plot progression, even their use of dialogue is wonderful in every way. as a writer, i envy them lmao. this fic takes me on a rollercoaster every time i read it, it’s yet another comfort fic of mine and never fails to disappoint every time i pick it up again. please, do yourselves a favor this april and read this.

Keeping The Flame Alive [19k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter 

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

--> yes, for the first time in dehydratedpoolfics history of fic recs even tho i’ve only been doing this for a month i am rec’ing the same author twice, but seriously, how could i not??? this fic took me on a literal journey like... wtf. i have no words. seriously, i have none, i’m just that blown away, go read it for yourself .

**a trail of honey through it all [27k] by bruisedhoney @yvesaintlourent 

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

--> okay look. i may or may not have a slight obsession with this fic. i reread it constantly, mostly for the iconic line, “are we fuckin’ or fightin’?”, because how can i not scream over that?? ((also patiently waiting for the sequel)) this is a literary masterpiece, one that defines an entire generation of this fandom i stg. but in all seriousness, hayley, the author, does such a wonderful job of giving the reader a vivid look into “nowhere, georgia”, and as a southern gal myself, i absolutely adore the itty bitty pieces of southern culture embedded into this, the tiny quirks that make this fic authentic. i could probably go on forever on why this fic is so iconic, but perhaps you should read it for yourself instead *wink* *wink*

SO. that’s all for this month!! if you read any of these, first of all, be sure to read the tags and author’s note (if any) before starting, AND please don’t forget to leave a quick kudos or comment, it means more than you may ever know <3

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 3.8k

Warnings: swearing, smut, masturbation

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 16 Part 18

Part 17

We got back to Liam's a couple of hours later. I felt exhausted by the time we got back. Finding the right shoes had been a nightmare. I have wide feet and struggled to find something I didn't feel like I was spilling out of.

In a surreal moment, I had found myself debating on whether I should get the Blahnik's or Louboutin's. The prices were unreal, and considering the most expensive shoes I had before those were my Dr Marten's Made in England 1460s, I was out of my depth.

This shop assistant in the shoe department was amazing. He said to go for the Louboutin's because "every woman should have at least one pair in her collection." He made me laugh and was helpful, so despite my misgivings on spending even more on the shoes than the dress, I got them.

The bag had been an easy purchase after that. I got a silver glitter Jimmie Choo clutch. It was half the shoes' price and felt like a bargain.

I hung my dress up, put my shoes and bag in Liam's dressing room and went downstairs to eat lunch with Liam.

"Thank you so much for today. I feel a bit better about the whole thing now that I know what I'm going to wear. One less thing to worry about," I said after we had eaten and packed up. I put my arms around Liam's neck and kissed him.

"You're welcome, Sweetheart. You looked so beautiful in that dress." He kissed me back. "Do you want me to get Ryan to organise an alteration?"

I scoffed, "No, he's probably got enough to do taking care of your shit." I winked. "I can do that tomorrow. I'll also get Jen to do my hair and makeup."

"Riza's wife?" Liam asked.

"Yeah, she does hair and makeup for weddings and formals, so she knows what she's doing."

"Tell her to bring Riza when she comes here, and I can meet them both."

"I'm getting ready here?"

"Yeah, I thought you would. Otherwise, you'll have to get from your place to here all dressed up. And you'll have Perrin with you."

He had a point. "Ok, so next week I'm staying at your place from Thursday until Sunday? Then going to David's and what? Will you stay at mine on Sunday night? Then you come back here on Monday?" Oh, this was complicated.

"Yeah," Liam said like it was no big deal. When you live half your life out of a suitcase, things like that aren't a big deal. Liam looked at his watch. "When do you have to leave?"

"I've got to be at Dave's in a few hours."

"That's just enough time."

"For what?" I asked.

The only warning I got was Liam's bloody twitchy lip. My eyes went wide, and he hoisted over his shoulder again. "For me to have my way with you."

He ran up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom with me giggling at his feat of strength and fitness. I was let down gently on my feet.

I expected Liam to rush me, but he didn't. He brushed my hair from my face as he looked at me with a gentle smile. He seemed so sweet and open that I couldn't help but smile back. I held his hand to my cheek, relishing its warmth, then kissed his palm.

Liam expelled a breath with a short laugh, and his smile grew larger. "I got you another present," he said. "I was going to give it to you on Thursday, but," he rubbed my earlobe, "I can't wait."

"You're very impatient."

Liam nodded. "Wait here." He went to his dressing room and returned with a small jewellery box. Real small. Ring sized small.

I took a step back. I felt cold, sick and my guts churned. Surely, he wasn't that stupid.

Liam looked at me, confused. "Lana, are you ok? You've gone white." I didn't look at him. All I could look at was that little black box. I shook my head.

Liam followed my gaze and must have finally realised why I was looking so sick because he chuckled and said, "it's not what it looks like, Lana." I looked at him, and his eyes twinkled in amusement.

I felt the colour return to my face and covered my face in my hands. "Thank God." I felt a little sheepish.

Still grinning, Liam pulled his hands away from my face and said, "one day, Sweetheart, I certainly hope it will be. Today, however, it's earrings." He opened the box, and inside were two perfect white pearls below a black onyx and diamond setting. They were beautiful. "I know you were joking when you said you needed matching earrings." He shrugged, "I couldn't help myself."

"You got these today? When?"

"I have a confession." Liam's smile was mischievous. "I didn't have to buy a shirt."

I shook my head at Liam, grinning, "you cheeky bastard." I got on my toes and kissed Liam on the cheek. "Thank-you. They are beautiful."

"Will you wear them now?" I nodded and started to take my earrings out. "Let me," Liam said.

Sweeping my hair away from my ear, Liam took my small gold hoops out and put his gift in my ears. He smiled a brilliant smile, revealing just a hint of his teeth. "Perfect," he said, leaning down to kiss me all too briefly. "Go look in the mirror, tell me what you think."

I looked in the mirror in the dressing room, and they were perfect. I played with the earrings. They had such a beautiful yet simple elegance to the design. I felt silly wearing them in my jeans and Joy Division t-shirt.

Going back to Liam, I hugged him again. "Thank-you." I looked into his eyes, so blue and open, and I felt my own tearing up. "You've made me feel special today."

I don't know why I cried. I just knew I felt a warmth in my body, my stomach quivered, and my heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest. I was confused by my feelings. They made me ache, they made me scared, but I also felt happy and safe.

Liam cupped my face with his hands. "Lana, you make me feel that way every day." Using his thumbs, he wiped my tears away.

My next words took us both by surprise. "Make love to me, please?" I didn't mean to say it. The words just fell out as I was swept up in the moment. But it was what I wanted. I wanted to feel love from him, have him hold me again like he had yesterday morning, have him break through my defences, help me tear them down. But more important than what I wanted was what I wanted to give. I wanted to hold him, kiss and caress him, show him how I felt about him.

Liam's face took on a series of changes, moving rapidly from one to another. First, his eyes widened, then he smiled, then his eyes hooded. Finally, he nodded and licked his lips. He leaned down to kiss me, and I closed my eyes. Tenderly, he kissed me, each kiss feathery and light. The ache between my legs was sudden and intense. I kissed him back, matching his mood.

I held Liams head while I got on my toes and kissed his neck. He let out a short groan as I trailed my kisses to his throat. He threw his head back, exposing his whole neck. His hand went to my head, holding me to him. I kissed under his jaw, and his stubble felt sharp on my lips and tongue. I moved down his throat, over his Adam's apple and into the shallow hollow at the base of his neck. Liam ran his fingers through my hair as I went.

I put my hands under his shirt and lifted it, pulling it off with Liam's help. His bare chest made my breath catch, and I reached out to touch him, pausing just short as I had the first night I met him. I smiled at the memory and looked at Liam as I let my fingers sink into his furry chest, his curly hair enveloping them as they did. For a moment, I just let myself feel his warmth through my fingers.

Sliding my arms around his waist, I kissed Liam's shoulder. I felt Liam's hands on my hips, but he let me kiss at his chest as I liked, not hindering me at all, not hurrying me, letting me take my time, allowing me to take control. I travelled across his chest with my hands, mouth and tongue, heat spreading throughout my body as I went. Liam's breath was shallow and rapid as I kissed him. I savoured his smell, texture and taste, hoping to hold onto this moment until I saw him again.

Wanting to feel Liam's skin against my own, I took my shirt and bra off. I embraced Liam as he slid his arms around me, his hands feeling their way up my back. I put a hand to his head and lead his lips to mine. I kissed him slowly, leisurely, enjoying his soft lips while I licked and sucked.

I brought my hips close to Liam's, and we both gasped as we touched.

"Lana," Liam pleaded, rolling his hips into mine, his movements slow and deliberate. "Please, Lana. I need you."

Kissing Liam again, I reached for his pants, undoing his belt. He grabbed for mine, and we undressed each other. Our kisses continued, neither of us wanting to break away. Liam kicked off his shoes and socks and stepped out of his pants. I tried to take mine off, but bloody skinny jeans and Doc's are not easy to kick off.

Liam chuckled when he saw my difficulties. My face warmed. He kissed me as he put his hands under my bottom and lifted me, carrying me the few steps to his bed and sat me on the edge. He got down on his knees and undid my laces, and took my boots and socks off. He pulled my pants and underwear off. To complete the replay of our first night, he held my ankles in his hands before he ran his fingers up my legs, making my skin break out in gooseflesh and my spine shiver.

Smiling at my response, Liam covered his body with mine, and I wrapped my legs around him. Slipping an arm under my waist, he lifted me off the bed and moved me up until my head lay on the pillows. Liam held his weight above me, his powerful arms out outstretched next to my head. He looked so beautiful above me, muscles taut, skin lightly tanned, his face sincere and genuine.

Liam let his body rest on mine, his arms sliding around my shoulders. He let some of his weight onto me, asking, "I'm not too heavy, am I?" I shook my head and nuzzled into his shoulder, sliding my hands under his arms to pull him closer.

Liam made a slight noise of discomfort and rearranged himself before holding me again. I moved my hips and felt myself effortlessly slide against him. A moan escaped my lips as I felt his sex rub against my folds and my point of pleasure. Flares of heat came with each passing, and my mouth sought him, needing his lips, his tongue like I needed air. He kissed me back, and I felt the same need from him, the same desire, the same hunger.

Moving his hips, Liam positioned himself to enter me. He lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes searching for confirmation. I nodded, and he watched my face as he slowly entered me, stretching me, filling me.

It felt like I was whole for the first time in years.

Holding himself still, Liam asked, "are you ok?". Not trusting my voice, I nodded. It didn't help, and the tears came anyway. Liam went to pull out, but I held him with my legs, locking my ankles together.

"Please, don't." My voice was a whisper. Putting a hand to his cheek, I kissed him, my lips firm and my tongue needy. He kissed me back a moment but then stopped and looked at me again.

"But you're crying." He said.

"I'm happy, you idiot," I said softly, smiling at him through my tears.

Liam let out a short laugh. He kissed me again and said, "me too, Lana." He held me tight against him.

We moved with each other, our bodies rocking slowly together. We sometimes kissed, we sometimes just closed our eyes and enjoyed the sensations. Mostly we looked at each other, small smiles on our lips.

"I'm close, Lana," Liam whispered to me.

I smiled at him and nodded. His gentle thrusts became harder now, and I looked into his eyes, watching his expressions change until he called my name, and I felt him release into me.

He let his head fall into the crook of my neck, his deep breaths tickling me. I stroked his hair and caressed his back. We stayed like that, holding each other. It seemed neither of us wanted this moment to end.

I felt Liam's whole weight fall on me as I heard soft snores start in my ear. I chuckled to myself, the poor guy was all tuckered out. I looked over at the bedside clock. I had a bit more time before having to leave, so I stayed holding him until his breaths where long and he had fallen deep into sleep.

I waited until the last possible second before I wriggled out from under Liam and went to have a quick shower. Liam had let me out from under him in his sleep and rolled over. I didn't want to wake him, so I showered upstairs instead of in his ensuite.

I dressed quietly, got my stuff together, went over to Liam, and kissed him on his forehead. He had hummed and tried to grab hold of me in his sleep, but I stepped away, and he relaxed back into sleep.

On the way out, I patted Cole and said goodbye. Cole, being a gentleman, walked me to the garage.

Perrin was happy to see me when I got to Dave's. He dawdled over to me and gave me some licks. It seemed like the kids had worn him out.

The kids weren't tired, though, and begged me to play on the trampoline with them. I rolled my eyes and said to Perrin, "I feel your pain."

Dave, the smart-arse, said to the kids, "I think your Aunty Lana had a big weekend, guys." Smirking, he continued, "she's probably had a lot of exercise."

"You're a dickhead." I said back to him.

The kids giggled their heads off, laughing that "Aunty Lany said a bad word!" I made my eyes go wide and smacked myself on the hand. They laughed and went to play, pulling Perrin along with him.

I said hi to Lucy, who was grinning like a crazy woman but trying hard not to. I laughed at her, blushing furiously. "Stop it," I told her. She just shook her head.

"Come on! Why didn't you tell us? Is he as nice in real life as he seems? Oh God, is he as hot? What's he like?" Lucy gushed.

"Oi," Dave said to her. "Ease up." Lucy just laughed and brushed him off.

"Yeah, he is as nice, really sweet. Funny, exciting and yes, very hot." We giggled.

"Awww," Lucy sighed. "Lana, I'm happy for you. I didn't even know you were dating again."

"Well, yeah, I only started a few months ago. Liam's the only one I had any real interest in."

"How'd you meet him?" Lucy asked. Dave nodded, also wanting to know.

I told them about the Will/Liam thing. They didn't seem to think it was as big a deal as I had thought, but I guess they weren't the ones who went through it. I told them a bit about what happened when we meet, how we had spent the last two weekends together. I left out all the gory details. I also told them about the plan for this week, the premiere, and asking Liam if he wanted to spend Easter Sunday with us.

Lucy squealed and jumped up and down. Dave rolled his eyes at her and agreed it would be good to meet him.

"You know Mum will be there, right?" Dave said.

"Yeah, I know." I scoffed. "Maybe Liam will be the guy to meet her expectations finally."

Dave laughed at that, "Yeah, well, he's got money, so she should be happy about that. He's not a CEO, though, so you still might be in trouble." He was probably right.

My phone rang then, and it was Liam. I must have had a massive smile on my face because Lucy made an "ooooh" noise at me. I hushed her and went outside.

"Hey," I said, my voice was already breathy.

"Hi, Sweetheart," Liam sounded a bit groggy.

"Did you just wake up?"

"Hmm, yes. Sorry. You should have woken me up. I didn't get to say goodbye." He sounded like he was pouting.

"Yeah, I know. But you just looked so sweet laying there, snoring like a chainsaw."

"I do not snore like a chainsaw." He paused, "do I?"

I laughed, "No. You do snore, but it's pretty soft."

He laughed. Then he asked, "are you at your brother's house?"

"Yeah."

"I will let you get back to it then. Call me later tonight?"

"Yeah, I will." I paused, building up the courage to say what I wanted to say, but Liam beat me to it.

"Thank you, Lana."

"For what?"

"For forgiving my bullshit and for pushing you. For letting me get close to you. For letting me be with you. For trying to fit into my world when I know it scares you. For being you. For everything."

For once, I didn't feel like I had to make a joke or change the subject. But I also didn't know what to say. "Thank-you." It was all I had.

"Call me tonight, Sweetheart?" Liam asked again.

I agreed, then hung up.

After dinner, Perrin and I went home. I didn't feel like staying later. The kids were disappointed, but I was tired. I knew it would be a big week, and I wanted to try to get a good night's sleep.

I called Riza on the way home, and we talked a bit about the weekend. She told me a bit about her work and her arsehole boss. I asked her if I could speak to Jen for a minute.

"Sure, but why?"

"Well," I said dramatically. "I'm going to a premiere on Thursday evening, and I need someone to do my hair and make-up."

"Jen, get over here!" Riza yelled, and her voice was so loud through my car speakers that Perrin barked.

"Christ, Riz."

She laughed and said, sorry. Before she handed me to Jen, she said, "Thanks Lana, she will be so happy."

"Why will I be happy?" Jen asked. I told her, and she was quiet a minute. "Really, Lana?"

"Yeah, who else would I get to do it?"

"Can I put it on Instagram? Like a picture of you two all ready?"

I knew she would ask that. She did it for most of her clients. "Yeah, but don't mention anything about it before then. Just after I'm ready, you can put a picture up. I don't know if Liam will want to be mentioned or have a picture, but I'm happy for you to ask him."

"Oh, Lana, thank you! This could boost my business."

"I know, that's why I'm ok with it. I mean, there's going to be photos out there of me anyway, so I hope it will help you get some more work."

Jen and I talked about what I was wearing and how I wanted my hair. I told her I had no idea, so she got all excited and said she knew exactly what to do. Before I hung up, I gave Jen the address and time and told her Liam asked if Riza could come because he wanted to meet her.

"Wow, Lana. You guys are serious, huh?"

"Yeah, Jen, I think we are." We hung up not long after that.

Later that night, I called Liam, and I told him I'd sorted Jen to come over and told Dave he would come for Easter.

He seemed pleased, and we talked a bit about Riza and Jen before I told Liam I was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

I was tired, but I couldn't sleep. My brain wouldn't shut off. I kept thinking about being at school tomorrow and seeing the parents. Then I started thinking about Thursday and what Myra and the others would think of me. What it would be like to do that walk down the red carpet. I know a lot of the press will just want photos of Liam, so I'll have to stand there looking like an idiot while he poses. But worse will be when I have to stand with him. I could just imagine pictures of us, Liam looking dashing and me looking like a deer in headlights.

I started Googling how to pose on the red carpeting even got out of bed and tried a few before feeling like a total dag and getting back into bed. I wanted to back out. I didn't want to do it. I couldn't believe I had said yes to it. But I remembered Liam's face when I said I would go, and I knew that's why I had said yes.

I thought about how sweet Liam had been to me all day, how beautiful he had made me feel,  how he had tried to make the whole thing easier, how he had kissed me and held me. How he had whispered my name as we made love.

I felt the heat between my legs grow. I tossed and turned a bit, trying to make it go away. I felt hot, so I took my pyjamas off. I tossed and turned some more. I tried to ignore it but I couldn't.

I went to my draw and got out my rabbit-style vibrator. I touched myself, and I was ready for it. I closed my eyes as I slipped it inside. I thought about Liam as I did. He was thicker than my slim vibrator but just as long. I positioned its ear against my clit and put it to the setting and speed I liked.

I held it there. I thought of Liam's gravelly voice in my ear and could almost feel his breath on my neck. I let my free hand wander over my body, remembering watching as Liam touched me. I thought of how he looked at me sometimes with a small smile, his eyes dancing with amusement as his lip twitched.

As I got closer to the edge, I thought about earlier that day, the way he held me, how gentle and tender he was. I remembered how it felt as I kissed his chest and his hairs tickled my nose. I remembered his smell, earthy and masculine, like the bush after it rained. I fell over the edge when I remembered how he had called my name as he orgasmed, my own rippling through me in waves as his voice rang in my ears.

Not long after that, I finally fell asleep.

Part 18

[charlthotte]

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 11

Beside me, I could sense Aone's pure fretfulness. His exterior exerted his usual stoic presence, yet the smallest draft of a broken child drifted through the cracks in his skin. Second after second, those cracks grew larger and larger until he seemed frail enough to snap. But we were outside, in the blatant view of the rest of the world - from what I knew - Aone wasn't a person to let his guard down in front of just anyone, somehow I felt the exact same way. But I was certain that the reason behind him was something entirely opposed to mine, perhaps it was something even darker.

I tried to shake myself out of my deep pondering, it was selfish to think about myself in a time where Aone was trekking through the furnaces of hell - and he needed me to accompany him on that adventure. I was certain that he couldn't do it alone, he'd break. There wasn't a more eloquent way of putting that statement, nor could you sugar-coat it. 

Roaring skies bellowed up above us, winds howled in agony - all of their lamentations lashing and tearing through the atmosphere; almost biting at our skin, shredding our outwards protection into ribbons of devastation. Those deafening bellows closed off my hearing almost entirely, I couldn't hear anything - let alone my own thoughts.

Throughout the whole journey, the winds kept us separated, no matter how valiantly I quested to ameliorate his feelings... I just couldn't reach them. Normally, a trip to the vet shouldn't have caused Aone's level of anxiety, so maybe... It was so much more than just a trip to the vet. 

Hesitantly, my fingers gingerly edged the door open, shrouding us both in a whole new light of apprehension. The ring of the entrance bell almost seemed deafening - breaking the agonisingly tumultuous silence. Everything was unreal. No, I didn't understand the situation to the fullest extent; but somehow, deep inside of me - I just knew. Soon, we were welcomingly ushered into the establishment by a woman in a lab coat. Her hazel eyes oozed with the highest volume of empathy that I had ever witnessed, somehow she knew to be gentle with Aone, as if she knew him well.

Almost in a chain of reactions, we were now sat down in the waiting area - side by side in silence. A gargantuan urging churned inside of me to console him, in any way possible; a pat on the shoulder; some words of sympathy or maybe simply the warmth of another human against him, so that he knew he had at least one shoulder to weep upon. Almost identical to the situation beforehand - Aone began quivering, but ever so slightly. And as always, I was the only person in the nearby vicinity that could notice exactly how he felt. As if on instinct, my arm shot upwards to wrap it around Aone's shivering shoulders, but at least the the farthest that I could reach. 

His whole body jolted at my touch, almost as if he had recently been snapped back into the current reality. Quicker than a blink of an eye, his eyes snapped over to rest upon me, their unnatural glossiness glimmering underneath the light - searching for the slightest scrap of comfort to latch onto.

Never before had I gazed upon his face in a manner such as that, to me, he seemed a new person entirely. Not a single aspect on his face had been altered, however, there was just something inside of me that didn't recognise him. My eyes darted around until they latched straight onto his. At that point - I had the slightest inkling to avert my gaze, but I just couldn't, - there was something inside of him, scraping and pleading for just that one moment of comfort. And that was when he had located that source of comfort, in me, no less. His whole figure softened as if he had lost his skeleton. He was but an empty vessel of what he was before.

---

The amount of time that flew past us was unfathomable, almost immeasurable. Time was always supposed to sprint forwards when you were enjoying yourself, and at that moment, both of those aspects were completely averse to the latter. The pure trepidation we were both enduring stretched out the time to the extent where a second was a terribly drawn out eternity.

"Mr. Aone Takanobu." The same woman that had greeted us spoke into the drab atmosphere. Within her eyes, I could sense something close to pity, all beneath the surface of empathy.

Gingerly, I rose from the chair, my legs almost buckling underneath me - but I knew, that I was the one who couldn't show any weakness, I was Aone's pillar of reassurance. If I toppled over, so would he; but his crash to the earth would be much more crushing. A faint tug rippled through the sleeve of my coat - Aone was gripping onto the fabric as if it was some sort of a lifeline for him. It was almost as if he was a terrified child cowering behind their mother. Even though he stood inches above myself, he didn't appear that way - his aura omitted that of a child, but not just any child, a scarred child, apprehending the worst.

As we were led to the veterinarian's office, sounds of weeping animals and humans echoed through the air, nothing was normal, nothing felt... right. The lady beckoned for us to take a seat, and the whole manner in which she conversed with us in simply unnerved me. Nothing was typically out of the ordinary - but it was at the same time.

Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, as if she was bracing for the impact of something intense. She began, "We have examined Shiro to the best of our abilities, however there was little to do for him. The symptoms he has displayed cannot match up with any diagnoses that we could offer you. To put it in simple terms, there is nothing much that we can do to help him."

Everything froze.

Everything froze, all except Aone and I. We were the only people in the world.

Almost instantly, Aone's eyes cascaded tears of sorrow, there was nothing to stop them from doing so. 

In the adjacent second, his body collapsed upon me for support, now was the time for his pillar to be there for him. Full instinct loomed over all my emotions, and I didn't even need to think of what to do next, I just simply... Knew... My one arm that wasn't already around his shoulders shot straight up to his hair - ruffling the tiny tufts gently. Twisting and curling a few of his ashen locks around the tip of my finger. The other presence in the room didn't matter to me as Aone's sturdy figure spluttered and choked inside of my arms. The amount of pain I was feeling due to the news that had recently been bestowed upon us was immense. But I couldn't even begin to imagine the sheer dosage of agony that he was going through, he had easily been close to Shiro for years and years at that point. Shiro seemed like the only living thing that Aone felt truly comfortable around, and now he was going to lose him.

Stinging slightly, my eyes began to be tickled by tears, threatening to surge over my eyelids - but a pillar can't crash. Aone's sobs rang out through the room, and then - not only was the news agonising, but so were the sounds of his fretfulness, perhaps even more so. Both our chests quivered in a calamitous rhythm, creating a song of desolation.

Breaking us out of our own little world, the lady almost whispered, "I'm guessing that you understand what I've said... I am extremely sorry to tell you this but, I don't think Shiro can last any more than a week living on this earth. However, we will supply him with some antibiotics to make his passing easier... Once again, I am so sorry."

What she said couldn't register with either of us, both of us being too occupied by the other's embrace.

I endeavoured to try and find Aone's eyes inside my own, only to see a harsh reddish hue emblazoned across them. He was a broken doll. I couldn't bear seeing him just so... hopeless. Therefore, in an effort to calm his lamentation, my hands hesitantly cupped themselves around his damp and blotchy cheeks, caressing my thumbs over them - wiping away his tears as I did so. He sank into them, using my hands as his only source of support.

"Aone... I can't imagine the amount of pain you're feeling right now: I know that Shiro is your best friend. I can't fathom losing someone close to me, especially if they're as close as you two are. You're inseparable. But, Aone... Please don't weep so. Shiro would want you to be happy, as he is still here with you... Even if not for much longer. I'm just so... sorry" I smiled hopelessly at him, trying to offer him the smallest shard of contentment that I could. Jittering, his palm cupped over one of mine, gyrating uncontrollably. I knew, in turn, he was attempting valiantly to comfort me too.

Nodding shakily, he spoke up for the first time since we had been at my house, "T-thank you, (Y/N)." His whole body jittered up and down with each one of his breaths - if you could call them that. Each one was so breathy, as if he was gasping for air. He was already drowning though. And I didn't know if I could save him.

---

After at least a quarter of an hour of consoling Aone, we were finally allowed to see Shiro again, finally allowed to set our eyes upon that perfect life form that only had a small cache of days left on this Earth. His little body scampered down the hallway - and straight into Aone's arms, placing his paws upon his shoulders; wagging his tail at a breakneck speed. It was as if they hadn't seen each other for months... maybe years. Pure longing laced itself into Aone's expression, exuberating immense levels of elation - yet still exerting a hidden sense of dejection. 

With a snap of the fingers; his tears had miraculously evaporated, freeing him - but not completely - from his lamentation. Every hair on his body stood on end, smiling an unfiltered grin from ear to ear, babying Shiro with his words.

That sight was truly gorgeous, the two clutched onto each other as if the world was about to end, and it was about to. But only for him.

Overwhelming joy flushed through me - making my heart skip several beats. Dropping to my knees, I positioned myself adjacent to Aone, beckoning for Shiro to come over to me. And even though Shiro and myself had hardly known each other for a week, he still leapt into my arms all the same. His hazel eyes glimmered in the artificial light, outputting something childlike and innocent. Running my hands up and down his fur, I noticed how soft it was, not a single strand was the littlest bit coarse.

I began to laugh under my breath, but I couldn't understand why. Was it grief? Was it apprehension? Or was it happiness? A single tear rolled down my left cheek, and once again - I didn't understand why.

Cheery howling flew through the air, ebbing out from Shiro's mouth; and all of a sudden he had cranked up his volume of giddiness to a whole other level. Jumping up and down on his two hind legs, he gathered enough force to knock me over - and abruptly I laid on the laminate floor of the veterinarian's with Shiro bounding around over and on top of me. Almost winding me at one point.

Every ounce of lamentation had disappeared from the establishment - replaced by an aura of pure joyousness. Very soon, we were beginning to overstay our welcome - therefore we hooked him up to his lead and set out, once again, out into the outside world.

[bleufrost]

Crawl Home to Her || A Ben Hanscom Series

Chapter Four: Not a Stranger

a/n: aaand we're back! let's see if I can get y'all back into this like im getting myself back into writing it (:

thank you all for being patient with me, if youre still here reading I love you so much.

masterlist

summary

rating: m for graphic depictions of violence, gore, and adult themes

The few feet between Ali and Ben feel like miles as her feet push her forward. Ali was refusing to bother with words, knowing exactly who this man was and how desperately she had waited for him all these years. His arms part instinctively, holding her to his chest as if it were the safest place in the universe and he was determined to protect her. Although years were spent apart, the feeling of being strangers was lost on both Ali and Ben; instead being replaced by the knowledge that they had not only grown up together, but had also been a saving grace for each other. 

Ali’s breathing becomes unsteady as she feels Ben’s hand slide up to her neck. She isn’t afraid of him by any means, but the realization that somewhere in her life she forgot about him makes her uneasy; guilty in more ways than one. Tears spring to her eyes and a panic she has not felt since childhood comes upon her suddenly, causing Ben to pull back and look her over quickly in search of the cause of her distress. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? I know I look different, but I swear I’m not a stranger.” Ben laughs nervously, trying to lighten the mood while also allowing her a moment to breathe. His hands never leave her, part of him unwilling in the event that she might slip away from him once more. 

“I tried so hard for so long to remember you, but I never could. Ben, I forgot about you and I know that sounds awful but I swear I never meant to. You were always there, right at the edge of my mind, but I could never reach you. I’m so sorry.” Her voice shakes as she speaks and Ben has the overpowering need to hold her again and reassure her that everything was perfectly okay. So, that’s exactly what he does.

His thumbs brush across her cheeks, wiping away the tears that slipped past her eyes. “It’s not your fault, Ali. I’m sure Mike will explain everything, but from what I heard you aren’t the only one who’s had some missing pieces from their memory. It’s okay, we can catch up and everything will feel like we never spent a second apart.” Her breathing is still heavy, but a small smile finds its way upon her lips. He reciprocates and there is nothing he wants more than to kiss her in that moment, but he knows that he can't. She just admitted that she had forgotten everything for the longest time, throwing something like that on her now when she was just starting to get her life back was unfair and selfish. He had waited years, a little longer would be no problem at all.

“You ready to go in?” His voice was calm and patient, letting her know that she was allowed to take as much time as she needs. She was ready now though, something deep within her telling her that she could do anything now that the piece she was missing had been found. The pair begin to walk closer to the entrance, taking comfort in the close proximity of their bodies. 

Standing right in front of the door was someone that they both had missed severely; even if Ali just now was remembering that she did. Ben reaches down, giving a reassuring squeeze to her hand and smiling toward the girl that had been his first official crush. “Is there a password or something?” Ali laughs beside him, Ben really was proving himself to be the master of throwing back phrases at people. It just further solidified what Ali already knew: they all meant something extraordinary to each other. 

Recognition does not dawn on Beverly Marsh’s face as quickly as it did Ali’s. She turns and stares for a moment. “I’m sorry?” The wrapper crinkles in Ali’s hand as she tears it off and slowly pops the candy into her mouth. Beverly watches her and slowly, her face begins to change with a sense of recollection. 

“New Kid?” His voice is hopeful as he says the nickname aloud for the first time in forever. The redhead’s eyes scan over Ali and Ben a little longer as the gears work in her head. “Ali? Ben?” Ali smiles excitedly and Ben lets out a relieved puff of air. While she nods her head, smile still beaming back at Beverly, Ben lifts his arm gently in an attempt to welcome Beverly into a hug. Bev comes forward, wrapping her arms around the both of them quickly and laughing. 

“Oh my god!” The three stand there for a while, hugging in a way that feels familiar to each of them. Ali never enjoyed being touched by other people, she shied away from hugs and general contact because it always felt so wrong to her. This though, felt right. She felt comfortable for the first time in as far back as her still-hazy memory could go. 

“it's been so long.” When Ben says this, it sounds less like a sad regret and more like a happy reassurance. It had been so long, but the wait was over at last. 

"You guys look great!" Seperating, the trio find the source of the voice in the form of who could only be Richie Tozier. He looks down at himself and scoffs. “What the fuck happened to me?” 

Once more, Ali finds herself closing the distance between herself and her old friend. Images flash before her eyes, showing her of a time when her and Richie would get into arguments, sometimes heated, that would always end in rolling eyes and smiles. He had kept her on her toes as a kid, but sometimes things like that only prove to strengthen the bond you have with someone. 

Part of Ali was expecting to see someone else walk up with Richie; she doesn’t know why but the distinct recollection of his lovestruck face brings itself to the forefront of her mind and she is almost disappointed to find him alone. 

“Hey Trashmouth!” They all laugh while Ali and Richie hug. The nickname definitely came easy to remember. “Are you fucking serious? I escape this shit for years just to come back and immediately get fucking ridiculed. That’s unreal, Ugly Duckling.” Ali pulls back from the hug and stares at him with shock on her face. Now that was a name she hadn’t heard in forever. 

Ben almost intervenes, afraid that maybe Ali won’t receive the banter as such. It takes a moment, but the shock slowly slides into amusement. She shoves his shoulder and hugs him again; she really had missed them all.

The rest of them greet each other with warm smiles, Beverly and Ben also fall victim to Richie’s incessant need to say whatever’s on his mind, and soon it is time to go in. 

With shaky hands, Ali follows the group to the entrance of the brightly lit restaurant. She falls behind a bit, trying to hide behind the rest of them as Richie continues to lighten the mood with his voice. It takes only a second for Ben to turn and notice how quiet she has gotten, and in that same second he halts his walking, waits for her to catch up, and falls into step alongside her. 

Their shoulders bump as they walk and Ali finds the feeling of warmth radiating from his open palm to be immensely more inviting than the illuminated building. His knuckles graze hers gently, as though he is calling her toward him in a way. She takes the invitation as soon as he is willing to give it, slowly sliding her hand into his larger one.

Ben doesn’t look down when he feels her soft hand find his own. He simply takes it and wraps his fingers in hers, driving away the cold of her palm with the comforting heat of his body. The nervous trembling doesn’t stop, but it does subside and that is more than Ben could ever ask for. 

Finally looking down, Ben catches the twinkling lights reflecting in Ali’s eyes. Smiling felt so foreign to him until today, and he feels his eyes come alight for what very well may be the thousandth time since arriving. Her own mouth curves up into the smallest of smiles as she notices him staring, and Ben can’t help but think it is the most beautiful sight he has ever seen.

Tags (ive been gone a while so i understand if youd like to be taken off, just message me): @stanley-barbs​ @bvrningdesires​ @floralpiper​ @thesmittenkitkat​ @daisysinadarkmedow​ @auggusst​ @isabellathedreamer​ @makbubblefandom​ @1988-fiend​ @alexther11​ @goldenmoonbeam​

let me know if you want to be added to the list!

a/n: as always, i greatly appreciate every read, like, reblog, and comment so much! feedback is always happily welcome and i hope you guys liked this chapter.

this is a side blog so i cant respond to comments (although i love to read them!!) but if yall ever wanna talk just shoot me an ask or message me! I love talking to yall <3

coming up...this meeting of the losers club has officially begun.

[keagan-ashleigh]

Those last eps are making me cry so much though, not only because of the whole drama going on in the show, but because I sort of intertwined it with my feelings, like, I said in a previous post last year, spn has been there all along in my life for 15 years, it sounds cheesy but true, it's been there, the show ending feels like an era ending, and this year, it's been harsh.

I "broke up" with my best friend after 25 years of friendship and it hurts... so much. They tell you about sentimental break up and how it hurts but there is no songs, no books, no movies, for broken friendships and how much it burns inside. People tell you that it's nothing, that it's how it's supposed to be and that it doesn't matter, but it still hurts so much. It does matter to me because she was my dearest friend, she was my family, and she was sort of a soulmate because she understood me and I understood her. I feel an emptiness in my chest and in my guts each time I think about her, I have nightmares, and I can't stop thinking about what we were, what she became, and how irremediably broken everything is. It's been months since I told her goodbye, and almost two years since I know our friendship is over, and I'm still no fine, I feel broken. And I feel even more sad knowing that she doesn't seem to care, she didn't even try. She just let me go. I sometimes have to remember what happened, some days I wake up and feel like this was all a dream, I sometimes catch myself hoping we can go back to where we were. What a show has to do with that, is that it's an ending. This story ends, this one too, I can't help but link those two things.

And as if I needed more pain coming my way this year, my aunt died from lung cancer and we weren't able to say goodbye because she was living far, we just couldn't. We weren't this close, we weren't seeing each other much, but I loved her. She was on the side of my family that never betrayed us, she and my uncle were always there for us, they always gave us support when hardly any one else did. I have known she was dying since march, and she passed away two months ago. It still feels so weird, sometimes it feels like "no, this isn't real, it doesn't feel real". But it is.

Nothing that happened this year does actually feel real, you know, it's all so surreal, in my own scale as in a larger one, it all feel so strange. It's just that I have a hard time snapping out of that state where I'm stuck between before and after, if that even makes sense. It just feels so unreal, like I'm gonna wake up tomorrow and, everything is back to normal, my friend is just like the loving and caring person I knew her to be, my aunt is well and happy with my uncle, my life is on its tracks, and everything is just as it was supposed to be. But I know it isn't and it distresses me.

I'm on the verge of turning a page for good and it's scary. It maybe sounds nuts but that show ending feels like a symbol and so, I am only sad because one of my all time favorite show ends but because something is ending in my life. I have to turn that page, I have to stop trying to strech that storyline or whatever, when that show ends I will not only say goodbye to characters I love and a story that has brought me so much hapiness and comfort, I am going to say goodbye to the past, so I can move on.

Anyway, sorry for the long rant but there is hardly any other website where I can express this. I do see a psychologist but I don't know why I can't get that out with her, I can't explain. I just know people here gets what it is like to love a show so much it becomes a part of your own story, people here know what it feels like to say goodbye to a show that has become like an old friend. This is the fandoms hellhole after all, am I right?

Anyway... This was a nice end, can't wait for the very last.

[SPOILERS HERE ]

I'll still be mad if they don't sort destiel out nicely though, as much as I love that show I do think we deserve better than a kill your gays down our throats after all these years playing around with that ship. It was beautiful scene and dialogue, and I think it was beautiful for Cas to sacrifice himself for Dean and everyone else (again), but it felt bittersweet not having him back after Jack got the power to bring him back. But there is a two hours episode to fill so (edit - 1hour recap + 45 min I have been told - well, still a lot of minutes to fill I think, there is room for a little hope), why not have just a little hope... I don't get my hopes too up but I have still hope, wasn't this season about hope somehow? I don't even ask for Dean to answer to Cas' love but just having him not dead, I think that's mostly what we're asking for, we'll be ok (but not 100% happy) with him openly gay and alive, still better than yet another kill your gays, we're all so tired of that trope, can't we have one gay happy ending for once?

So. Yeah. I look forward to this grand finale. I do.

[rottenprincessshura100]

Learning to Breathe

Excerpt from my fanfic. Meph, training his unruly familiar

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Mephisto tickled Eve's ear with a clawed finger. She flicked it with irritation and pulled the blankets over her entire body, creating a protective cocoon.

"It's too early." Eve moaned with exhaustion. "Begone, demon...!"

Mephisto laughed heartily at her spunk.

"Eve, today, I'm teaching you how to make a space portal. Once you manage this task, it will unlock even more of your demonic potential. This lesson is critical."

With a flourish, Mephisto swished the blankets away from Eve's prone form. She sat up grumpily in purple flannel pyjamas, glowering at the demon king.

"I'm the shittiest demon ever." Eve snarked. "I am probably incapable."

"You are the daughter of Thoth. It should be as easy for you as breathing air."

"So if I mess this up, I'm supremely pathetic." Eve groaned.

"Don't mess up." Mephisto huffed. "You need to learn quickly or else."

"Your confidence is so reassuring."

"Come along now." Mephisto urged.

"But I need coffee and breakfast!"

"Later.."

"Arrrgggh!" Eve reluctantly followed after Mephisto.

This test sounded like total pressure!

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

Mephisto led me to a tiny black room; he knelt into the small hobbit-sized door and disappeared. I peeked my head into the void hesitantly. The fuzzy blackness reminded me of a portal to Hades; my eyes strained to adjust to the oppressive atmosphere.

"Come in here, Eve," Mephisto ordered.

"Dammit." I gritted my teeth. "Is this a trap?"

Mephisto's face materialized from the darkness with a mocking smile.

"You're already trapped; what reason would I have to trap you again?"

"What if I create a portal and just happen to escape?" I countered.

"You'll never know unless you try." His clawed finger flicked the end of my nose.

"Fine. If I escape, I'm not coming back." With a new sense of resolve, I ducked inside.

I fumbled forward in the darkness and soon realized the room was much larger than I initially expected. I lost my footing and crashed into something soft. That something was Mephisto.

"Heh...oh, hey there." I snicker awkwardly.

"I thought cats were nocturnal predators?"

"Fine, you want me to act like a predator?" I reached out and pinched his ass like a lecherous perv. "Ow! ow!... nyahhhh!"

"Eve!" Mephisto admonished. "I need you to focus here! Stop distracting me!"

I reached into the space around me, my hands accidentally touching Mephisto's face. I drew him close and placed a whisper of a kiss teasingly on his lips. Before Mephisto can respond, I disappear like a shadow into the darkness.

"I've changed my mind; I want out of here," I announced. "I'm human. I don't need to do this."

"No, no. Bad kitty." He admonished. I'm shocked to see Mephisto's green eyes snap open, inches from my face. I scream out in terror and push him away. Yet, my fingers encounter nothing but space. “You are a half-demon, you need to start acting like one.”

"Where are you!" I spin as panic set in. "Mephisto!"

"Eve, hiding won't prevent today's lesson. We are not playing a game."

"I don't obey your rules!" I shouted. "Besides! You're hiding from ME!"

Mephisto's body suddenly flashed from the darkness capturing mine. His sinuous arm wound around my waist possessively, while his free hand grasped the thin column of my neck. I felt the tips of his claws pressing dangerously into my jugular vein like unrelenting cold steel. The demon king had scruffed his unruly cat.

"Let me go," I growl with a warning.

"You are quite rotten today, familiar." His hot breath tickled into my ear, "I need you to listen and learn."

"What if I refuse." I challenged. "Will you punish me like Amaimon?"

"Why on earth would I do that?"

"Oh!!!!!"

I cried out in surprise as Mephisto crushed my body against his. His lips captured mine with a sudden punishing assault. One clawed hand entangled in my hair, while the other grabbed my ass, grinding my hips into his. Mephisto was asserting his dominance over me, like a viper toying with a rodent.

Yet, instead of fear, I snarled a challenge deep in my throat.

"How strong are you now?" I purred. "I'm feeling....different." My claws jerk from my fingers, slicing into his suit. I barely miss his flesh. “Do you really want to go there?”

Abruptly, Mephisto released me, and I step back from him. My hazel eyes have morphed bright gold like a feral tiger. I taste blood in my mouth from newly sprouted fangs. My chest heaves with bestial urges and breathless desire.

What the fuck did I just do? What was happening to my body?

"....Mephisto?" My voice trembled with a mixture of lust and confusion.

Mephisto glared at me with fiery eyes that burned like the red hell of Gehenna. The sight of him scared me to the bone. He is royally pissed.

"You won't refuse me." The menacing promise in his voice caused me to shiver involuntarily. "I am your master. I must keep my familiar safe."

"Yes, master." I hissed flippantly, regaining control of my emotions.

"Oh, and one more thing." His eyes return to their typical green hue. "Never bite the hand that feeds you; it would be unwise."

I balled my fists at my sides with frustration.

I'm going to get him for this!

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

"You are the daughter of Thoth and my familiar," Mephisto explained matter-of-factly. "Therefore, you possess powers in a similar vein to mine."

He is no longer standing at my side; his voice now echoed disembodied all around me. I stepped forward and jerked in fear. I was now standing on a small suspended stone in the middle of a bottomless void. One wrong move and I would tumble to my death.

"MEPHISTO!!!!!!!!!"

"Don't be afraid, Eve." His voice soothed. "You can only learn through practical reinforcement. I want you to bend the space around you."

"HOW!?" I shouted in exasperation. "Unlike you, I can't snap my fingers!"

"Oh? Have you tried it?" Mephisto now appeared 50 feet away on solid ground. "Stop griping and just do it. Create a space portal and allow yourself to cross the expanse."

"What's the aria for that?"

"You don't need one; it's only a fetter for your true power."

"Huh? But what if I fall!?"

"You won't fall, I promise."

"But, you always lie.." I grumbled in distress. "Always!"

I slid a toe off the edge cautiously and watched a pebble tumble into the bottomless pit; it was not an illusion. I glared at Mephisto.

"This isn't going to work!"

"Think of it as solid, and it will be," Mephisto replied with encouragement. "You are magic Eve; solid and liquid matter will change form with your command. All you need to do is visualize it, and it will happen."

"What if I can't do it?"

"We will stand here all day. I suppose." He crossed his arms haughtily.

"Awww, C-mon!" I stomped my foot in resistance. "This isn't fair!"

"Focus Eve...try to see it. Open up your other sight."

I centred myself and studied Mephisto standing safely so far away. I imagined grabbing his rock and yanking it. I wouldn't come to him--he would come to me!

I closed my eyes and concentrated. I felt something dark and menacing crack open inside of my soul, like a rush of air ripping through the deep recesses of my mind. I could feel the snap of electricity, the incredible cloying power. I raised my hands and summoned space/time to heed my command. It was at that moment that I could visualize everything. In my mind's eye, the world opened into a complex schematic with millions of lines, interconnecting space and the material world.

As I flicked my finger, one of the lines wiggled like a thread—the stone where Mephisto stood moved ever so slightly.

"Well, colour me surprised," I murmured. "Unreal..."

"What was that?" Mephisto mocked.

"Hang on to your ass! You bastard!"

I flicked all the strings simultaneously with my fingertips like I was playing a spiderweb harp. Seconds later, I was knocked to the ground by a heavy object forcing the air from my lungs.

"Um, that's not exactly what I had in mind." Mephisto propped himself up on his elbows to take his weight off of my body. "But also very effective! Good work, darling!"

"Holy shit! I did it!" I crowed with the thrill of victory. "I'm not dead!"

"Okay...Eve..." He grinned. "But you still have more powers to awaken."

"What else can I do!?" I smiled with excitement.

"Let's discuss that over a cup of tea."

[sa-gt-tarrius]

Everything is Okay [Secret Santa gift]

Warnings: Hypothermia, mild language, fear

@barclays-sides @secret-sanders-sized

Before you say anything... I know you asked for fluff and I promise you it’s in there... I’m just a sucker for drama and couldn’t control myself for three seconds. (Nothing bad happens to anyone, I swear. *sob*)

After a camping trip gone awry, Logan finds help from an unexpected source. If only Roman was here to see this...

***

Logan realized he didn’t think this whole thing through.

Now, Logan wasn’t stupid, not really. He just made a miscalculation—a simple judgement error. It happens to the best. But this particular lapse of judgement was about to cost him greatly.

Shivering rapidly, Logan tugged his coat tighter against his body, pulling his legs further underneath the tree branches looming overhead. It wasn’t like journeying this deep into the woods was Logan’s idea, anyway. Roman had suggested they, along with Virgil, go camping to catch up on some much-needed quality time. And damn it all, Logan agreed to come, if only to appease his puppy-eye face. So they decided to camp in a nearby national park. It fulfilled Logan’s requirement of being close to civilization while also satisfying Roman’s desire for adventuring in the woods.

When Logan got separated from the group, he did everything he was supposed to do. He stayed put, began blowing his whistle, and waited hours for someone to find him. But he wasn’t able to stay stationary forever—not with the thunderstorm approaching quickly. So instead of waiting around to get drenched, Logan had found some shelter. It wasn’t much, just a small aspen tree, but it kept Logan mostly dry. But even the helpful tree branches couldn’t protect from the blistering cold.

Logan wondered where Roman and Patton were. Did they find sufficient shelter? Or were they searching for Logan in the storm like a couple of idiots? With any luck, they took refuge in a ranger station and alerted the park authorities about Logan’s disappearance. Surely Logan would be found in due time. The thought alone was comforting. Everything is okay, he thought, trying to keep his spirits up. He’d be fine.

But nice thoughts wouldn’t keep Logan warm. The man kept running his hands against his forearms, trying vainly to summon heat from friction. But instead of warming up, he just got his gloves wet. Logan sighed, settling on crossing his arms instead. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all he could do for now. He simply had to tough out the cold and wait for rescue. Easier said than done, he thought bitterly.

Minutes had gone by. Or was it hours? Logan’s coat had gotten completely damp by then, to the point that it would be much warmer without it. Cold water leeches heat faster than cold air does. Logan knew that already. He should take the coat off. Yeah, that sounded good. The coat was unceremoniously shed onto the muddy ground, along with the sweater he wore beneath it. All it left him with was his t-shirt and pants, both of which were slowly being soaked by the rain still dripping through the above branches. Logan briefly considered taking the rest of his clothes off. Would that help? Logan wasn’t sure. His thoughts were fuzzing as if his mind was a TV channel of nothing but static.

Whatever. Roman and Patton would come soon enough. Logan grunted, shuffling closer to the trunk of the aspen tree. Thunder rumbled overhead, but Logan didn’t react. He sat still, shivering violently as the storm continued to pass over the park. Everything is okay. It had to be.

The rain was pouring much harder now; the tree branches provided very little protection from the onslaught of raindrops. Each droplet stung when they landed on Logan’s pale skin. (Was his skin blue? Nah, that must just be his imagination.) Logan regretted ditching the jacket, despite knowing that it wouldn’t help at this point. Still, by instinct alone, he reached for it. But when his hand came into contact with the soaked fabric, Logan realized something crucial. He couldn’t move his fingers. They twitched under his gaze, attempting to budge, but remained frozen in place.

Suddenly, the pieces clicked. Hypothermia. No wonder he was so delirious.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Logan had to get warmed up quickly, but he just couldn’t think straight enough to do anything about it. All he could think about was hold cold he was and how nice it would be to sleep right on the ground. The dirt would be comfortable enough, right? No, no… He had to stay focused. Warm. He had to get warm. He had to. Had to get warm.

Through the barrage of blurry, inane, hypothermic-induced thoughts, Logan failed to notice someone approaching the aspen tree.

***

The hypothalamus is the part of the brain that regulates body temperature. When it detects a drastic decrease in body heat, it activates a variety of responses to bring the body back to a healthy temperature. Among these responses are shivering, vasoconstriction, and the overbearing impulse to find warmth.

However, while the body is suffering from extreme hypothermia, humans have a strange tendency to remove their clothes, despite the dangerous cold. Biologists have hypothesized that this is because of a malfunction of the hypothalamus brought on by the extreme temperatures, leading those suffering from hypothermia to believe they feel hot, even in the coldest environments.

So when Logan woke up feeling warm, he began to panic. His jacket and coat were gone, and although he could still hear the pouring rain, he felt rather cozy. This was not good at all. He was probably in the third stage of hypothermia, where the human body shuts down to conserve heat. How long did he have? He had to find proper shelter quickly. Who knows how long he’d last in the rain with no protective gear to shield against the rain and wind?

Logan took a glance around, only to find that he couldn’t see anything. At all. It was pitch black, with no trace of light to be seen. Was it truly nighttime already? It was only midday when the storm started. He reached forward, hoping to properly grasp his bearings, only for his hand to connect with a soft, fuzzy surface. A blanket, maybe? Logan thrashed around, trying to throw the blanket off. Hypothermia was known to cause a loss of coordination and dizziness—Logan could confirm that was true as soon as he started moving. He wasn’t cold anymore, but he fumbled a few times and struggled to sit up.

Eventually, though, the blanket was removed. He blinked rapidly as he came to terms with his surroundings. He was not, as he was starting to believe, in a ranger station. In fact, he wasn’t even in a building. He was in a cave, spanning several dozen feet across and reaching upwards for at least two stories. The entrance to the cave laid to Logan’s right—he could see the onslaught of rain, even from afar. In the centre of the cave, a fire was blazing, illuminating the cave in a warm orange glow.

“Oh, you’re awake!”

Logan jolted, whizzing his head around to find the source of the voice. No one was there, at least not that he could see. All that was visible in the dim light was a huge swatch of blue fabric, seemingly hanging in midair. A tapestry? A curtain?

Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to confirm, but froze up when he finally realized what he was looking at. No. It was a shirt. A huge shirt, ten times the size of Logan.

A sharp gasp escaped him as his eyes landed on a pair of hands pressed up against the wall of blue. Each of the hands was bigger than Logan himself. They twitched and fidgeted, somehow alive and moving despite their unreal size. The hands were connected to arms, larger than tree trunks and probably twice as sturdy.

Logan dared to look up further, only to be met with a pair of enormous, worried brown eyes.

“Um…” The giant man shuffled a bit, clearing his throat. “Hi there.”

No, this wasn’t right. Giants didn’t exist. They were legends, myths and nothing more. This had to be a dream. Or perhaps he was hallucinating thanks to the hypothermia. Logan kept his focus locked onto the giant’s huge brown eyes, glimmering faintly in the fire's light. Surely a hallucination wouldn’t look so lifelike, would it? Or was Logan losing his mind out here?

The stunned silence continued. Logan was becoming less and less afraid by the minute, his fear being replaced by a sense of awe and wonder. He was honestly shocked by how human the giant looked and acted. If he was six feet tall instead of sixty, he’d be just as normal a human as Logan.

As Logan inspected the giant, a few details stole his attention. The pebbles littered in the giant’s hair, the dampness of his shirt, the grime that covered his palms… Not to mention the fact that he was hunched over, trying to fit his massive body into such a small space. If he were to stand up, he’d be twice the height of the cave, easily.

“Please don’t freak out,” the giant wavered. Was he… nervous? That was weird.

Logan blinked owlishly, still staring down the massive being before him. “I—I won’t,” Logan replied. He spoke with caution as if he were afraid of saying the wrong thing. “I won’t freak out.”

“Wait, really?” The giant looked genuinely surprised. He quickly brushed a lock of dusty brown hair out of his face. “Cool! Uh, my name is Patton, by the way.”

“I see,” Logan murmured, still completely captivated by Patton. “Good to meet you.” But was it, though? Logan hadn’t decided yet.

Patton frowned, bringing one of his hands up to Logan’s quivering body. “Oh gosh, are you still cold?” he exclaimed, his expression tinged with concern. “You poor thing. Lemme get you warmed up.”

Logan yelped as one of the monstrously large hands slipped around his back and under his legs. “Wait, stop!” he hollered, squirming frantically.

Patton flinched, quickly retracting his hand. “I’m sorry, I'm sorry… I won’t touch you, alright?” The giant put both his hands flat on the ground as an act of surrender. “See? Not touching you.”

“I—I don’t care for heights,” Logan muttered, curling in on himself. “Please don’t lift me like that.”

“Oh. I... I didn’t mean to scare ya, kiddo. I’m so sorry.”

“Who are you?” Logan asked, ignoring the giant’s kiddo comment. He wasn’t interested in apologies—he wanted answers to the stream of questions running through his mind. “Where am I? H—how are you so big?”

Patton lowered his head a bit, still keeping his distance as to not frighten Logan any further. “Well, I’m nobody special. I just live around here.” The giant shrugged limply. “You’re in the mountains by the park. I found you on my hike and brought you here to warm up.”

“Uh-huh.” Logan nodded absently, not paying attention. He quickly evaluated his options: should he stay here with a giant who may or may not cause him harm, or go out and risk getting hypothermia again? Could he even run if he wanted to? His body was still so weak… He huddled further against the jagged wall, shivering. Was he cold or scared? He couldn’t tell. Maybe it was both.

Everything is okay. …Yeah, keep on telling yourself that.

“As for how I’m so big, that’s a funny story. You see, I… uh…” Patton paused, biting his lip at the sight of the trembling man beneath him. “Oh, geez... you’re shaking like a leaf, buddy.” The pair of gigantic hands moved again, shooting towards Logan at the speed of a car. “Here, let me get you warmed up.”

“No!” Logan screeched, covering his face out of instinct. “I said not to—”

“Whoa, whoa, hey!” the giant exclaimed, his hands missing Logan entirely. “Shhh… I'm not touching you. I promise.”

Patton’s hands fumbled with something behind Logan, and suddenly, the smaller man was enveloped by a warm, fuzzy, familiar embrace. Then, as quickly as they came, the hands retreated once again.

“My hoodie is nice and warm,” Patton explained, his voice echoing through the cave. “Get cozy, okay?”

Logan blinked, scanning the blanket on his shoulders more closely, before realizing that it wasn’t a blanket at all. Patton had wrapped him in a sweater, one that spanned his height multiple times over. “I… ah…” Logan stammered, unable to finish a sentence without stuttering, “th—thank you.”

Patton shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said with a kind smile. “I know, I’m pretty scary.” When Logan didn’t reply, Patton turned away to watch the fire, his face crestfallen and flat. “...Maybe I should go get some wood.”

“Wait, I…”

Patton’s eyes shot toward him, attentive and bright. Logan gulped, straightening up under the scrutinizing gaze. Use your words. “I should… th—thank you for coming to my aid. I… t—t—truly appreciate it.”

Silence overcame them for a moment. Logan’s words had somehow floored Patton. His mouth hung agape and eyes blinked rapidly. It took him a minute to reply. “Uh, yeah,” he finally breathed, rubbing his neck with his mammoth hands. “You’re welcome, kiddo. It’s no biggie.”

Logan cocked his head. “It’s, ahh… i—it’s Logan. Not kiddo.”

“Oh.” Patton nodded in confirmation. “Logan. Okay, got it.” The giant turned away from him to stare outside, flinching as thunder rumbled once again. It seemed that the storm would not pass anytime soon. Logan frowned deeply, wondering how long he’d be stuck in this cave for. He had no clue which way the campsite was. And even if he did, there was no chance of him making the long trek down the mountain, anyway. Not in his delirious and weary condition.

Logan snuggled into the sweater as best he could. The sleeve wrapped around his front, but it was so big and awkward that it didn’t stay on that well. It kept falling off him, despite his best efforts to keep it on. He regretted taking his jacket off. It was so cold here, and the fire was too far away to warm him up at all.

But then, suddenly, Logan was ripped from his thoughts as something grazed his shoulder. An index finger. “Do you want to sit closer?” Patton asked tentatively, gesturing to the empty spot beside him.

Logan hesitated, glancing between Patton and the inviting blaze further ahead. The fire looked inviting… and at this point, Logan had to reason not to trust Patton. “I—I should be able to… Yes, that sounds fine.” He steeled himself enough to roll onto his stomach and begin the arduous crawl to the flickering fire. Patton stayed true to his word and didn’t pick him up, instead waiting patiently for Logan to make his way to Patton’s side.

When he made it, he sat cross-legged on the jagged ground, hugging himself tightly. Almost immediately, the heat emanating from the flaming wood overcame Logan, and he sighed in contentment. For the first time all day, he felt rather comfortable.

Something shuffled behind Logan, and seconds later the sweater was draped over his shoulders again. Patton gave him a gentle smile, keeping his voice level and quiet. “Better rest up. I’ll take you home when the storm passes.”

“Satisfactory,” Logan mumbled, pulling the sweater around his legs. Everything is okay. But was it? Logan wasn’t sure yet. He had to ask.

“Patton,” Logan whispered, eyes glued to the fire. “You won’t hurt me… will you?”

“Of course not,” Patton replied, looking rather offended at the suggestion. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Logan nodded. “I believe you.” And he did.

Everything is okay. And this time, it was.