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elfwoodfae · 3 years

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Writing’s On the Wall Harrison Eo Wells x reader.

Chapter 2- Specter.

Author’s note: I am so happy and excited for this new series. I hope sincerely that you all like it and let me know your thoughts, this new series will touch on darker themes up ahead in the future. Also tumblr is being annoying with the paragraphs that’s why they are so far apart.

I made this moodboard. I looked up and searched the photos and edited them. I don’t mind if you use it.

Part 1 (here)

A strange calmness falls over him; he turns around, opening his eyes for the first time in hours. He feels exhausted, having spend the majority of the night observing you. He chastises himself, he shouldn’t have done that, there was no other option, he reminds himself, he is desperate and frustrated. The sudden reminder of your presence this early in the morning angers him, a growl escaping his mouth as he sits up, the white linens of the bed pooling around his hips as he rubs his face with one hand, turning his head and doing a double take at the door, making sure is locked, he knows he locked it last night but the paranoia your presence has brought him makes him second guess himself.

His feet touch the floor first, he stretches his arms over his head, moaning at the relief it offers, his white shirt riding up enough to expose a gleam of milky skin; his hair is a mess of black curls, the expression looking back at him thorough the mirror is annoyed, tired, he splashes water on his face, he needs to wake up. The shadow of a beard is starting to appear on his chin, along his jaw and cheeks, he closes his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck and sighting before gripping the sink in a moment of fury where he wishes he could rip it out of the wall and throw it, shattering it into pieces.

How hard could it be to get rid of you? It wouldn’t be hard at all, it would be done before you could even draw your next breath, it would bring him more pleasure than beating Allen, but the consequences would be devastating, his rational side reminded him, there was not possible way to free himself from the torture of your existence without dooming his. Had Joe not met you things would have been different but he could see as clear as day the picture waiting back for him at the lab. Barry most likely knows about you by now, he knows there will be questions once he gets there, they will be innocent in nature but they will only serve to cement your presence into his mind.

He looks at himself in the mirror, admiring every detail of his clothes before he turns around, spotting his chair exactly where he had left it last night; he walks to it, looking at it so intently as if his gaze alone could burn it, hating the thing he punishes himself with. It’s for a greater good, he remembers. Wheeling into the main area of the house he notices all the lights are still off, he takes solace onto the fact that you are still sleeping, freeing him from your presence even if he knows it will only be for a few hours. He decides to leave, not wanting to take the chance of you deciding to appear and tag along, he doesn’t think of himself capable enough to not pull a Brutus a gut you in the middle of the day. This are also the only quiet moments he will get to think, to work on his suit, he sighs, there is so little time for him to use even when he is always alone.

The room is unfamiliar to your eyes, the bed linens are soft, warm, they smell of fresh cotton and clean clothes, it takes a moment for your memories to return, reminding you where you are. The room is dark, the curtains successfully blocking any sunlight from peaking in, there is no telling the time as you look around trying to get at least a sense of how rested you are. The clock reads sometime after 8, Harrison has more likely left by now and a slight disappointment settles over you, you wanted to see the labs, maybe he will want to take you tomorrow. The bathroom is spacious, glass doors decorating the shower as a black marble vanity rest on the wall, its too big for one person, it feels too luxurious for a guest room. Your mind reminds you of a forgotten fact, Harrison was never a showoff kind of person, he liked his house to feel welcoming and cozy, completely opposite to this place.

Walking out of the room is impossible not to notice the eerie silence that accompanies you, all the lights are off but the sun seems to illuminate the whole place through the skylight. A feeling of anxiety settles in your stomach as your eyes scan the expanse of the room, a corridor shielding doors you haven’t explored yet calls to you, maybe it would be best to wait for him to come back and show you around. You look around once again, scanning the walls and every available surface, your brows furrowing once a detail settles into you that you hadn’t taken into account the previous day; there is not even a single photo of Tess or himself anywhere. Maybe he has them in his room, or perhaps in his office, you think, the anxiety of walking into his space long forgotten, replaced with curiosity.

With fast steps you make it to the first door, its unlocked. The wood doesn’t creak when you open it and you wish it had, any sound would be better than this silence. Peaking your head inside, rows of shelfs of books welcome you, a dark desk sits in the middle, random papers and pieces discarded around it, nothing you would be able to recognize. A leather chair sits behind it and for a moment you wonder what could he need it for? Scanning the surface for any photos, any memories of Tess you could find but is empty, not even a photo of her in any of the walls.

Moving along you walk to the last room, the one on the end of the hall; opening the door, the room is dark, no light peaking into it, the bedsheets are a dark grey, almost black, nothing is out of order, a smell that could only be described as a freshly shaved man and clean clothes hits you, its pleasant, fresh. There is once again no photos to be seen, you should turn around, walk back and continue with your day but curiosity gets the best of you; the walking closet is big, rows of clothes hanging, color coordinated and perfectly ironed. A mirror from floor to ceiling adorning the wall in front of you. Walking closer to his clothes you grab the sleeve of one of his expensive white shirts, wanting to feel the softness of it, you don’t recall ever seeing him wearing one. Out of impulse you bring it to your nose, clothing your eyes as the smell of his cologne hits you, causing a blush to rise up your cheeks; he probable sprays it on himself here, impregnating everything around him.

Abandoning his room you walk into the kitchen, there is so many things about him you wish you knew, things that have probably changed and things that you don’t remember. He seems so distant, so cold, so unavailable to you, it made you wonder why he had allowed you to stay with him, perhaps it was not you, it was your attachment, the last piece of her memory he had, you were like an heirloom, one he refused to throw away, and that realization made you sad.

He didn’t seem happy, he seemed lonely, used to being by himself, making you question if he had any friends, if there was anyone caring for him. The man you remembered was always accompanied, always surrounded by people, always kind, always loving; where had that man disappear? You wondered, remembering how he hadn’t even known who you were once he picked up the phone that night, but what could you expected? You had never reached out, staying like a ghost, gone and hidden from his life.

Sighting you shake your head, forcing these thoughts to abandon you, having had enough of their torment for a day, there are things after all to be do today. Her face attacks your memory, you remember her from the times Tess and Harrison had brought her over, Christina is her name, she was close to Harrison and she had been very close to Tess, urging the obligation of a visit in you the moment you had decided to visit Central City, certain guilt at staying so out of touch to both of them fills you.

Perhaps you should have called her office before hand, you think, she is a busy woman after all, but after a few name drops from her past her assistant informs you that she will see you shortly. The door opens to the conference room she asked you to wait at, her face haven’t changed, a few wrinkles here and there, but the same determine eyes started back at you.

“Y/n” she says your name, surprise lace in her voice, she seems excited to see you. She hugs you, before commenting how much you have changed since she last saw you approximately fifteen years ago.

“I am so glad you could see me, I’m so sorry I never reached out, is just after the death of Tess so many things changed.” You begin, feeling the sting of tears coming to her at the emotion of relieving those memories, at being so close to someone that knew her.

“I’m surprise Harrison didn’t mention that I was visiting, I assumed you both were close friends.” You say nonchalantly, catching in the way her face contract, she seems uncomfortable at the mention of his name.

“Well yes we were.” She says, taking in a breath before continuing.

“You see, after the accident Harrison and I fell out of touch.” She says, seemingly leaving it at that, but curiosity is a powerful feeling, pulling its strings inside of you, forcing you to ask.

“Oh, but don’t you both keep any contact at all?” The question seems innocent, you genuinely want to know. She understands that, concern for you raising in her as she decides to open up more to you.

“I’ll be honest with you y/n, after the accident Harrison changed so much, that loving, caring man disappeared, he became cold, calculating, manipulative. I understand how grieve can change a person, but he, is like he is not even the same person anymore.” She tells you and you get the feeling she is not speaking in a metaphorical way.

You decide to confide her in your worries of him, in your confusion when he didn’t know who you were, when he didn’t even recognize your name. You can see the concern raising in her eyes, at you being alone with a man neither of you know any longer, but you assure her is fine, you will be fine, how bad could he be? He wouldn’t hurt you, this was Harrison you both are talking about, even if neither of you believe it completely.

@twilightlover2007

@austarus

@harrisonwellsisdaddy

@wintersire

@reallystressedhoneybee

@fanfiction-and-fantasies

@saltykidcreation

@dumpeetintofyre

@yetanotherwells

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caramelcal · 4 years

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Trained for Sin {part two}

Word Count: 2.2k

Ship: Luke Patterson x Reader

a/n: wow...here is your highly requested part two! YALL GOT ME FEELIN FAMOUS!! Thank you so much for every single comment, note, request, repost and message. I am so thankful for them all and I’m glad you guys enjoy my silly little fics lol...

Would a ‘Luke Patterson’ tag be something you guys are interested in, so that you would be notified for every Luke fic I post or no? It’s just a little idea right now...

From Luke’s point of view for a bit of ~spice~

Warnings: friends with benefits themes, sexual themes, swearing

Tags: @iainttakingshitfromnobody @ilymarkchan @starjane312 @miranda0102 @katrin-okay @mah-gah-lee @fantastic-fans @phantompogues @fangirlangioma

disclaimer: i do not condone plagiarism on my work at all, this has not been posted on any other platforms, or on tumblr anywhere else but my account (rosemoonmist) if you see anyone plagiarizing mine (or anyone else’s account) please inform the rightful author ! thank you lovelies x

Part One Masterlist

It wasn’t a particularly normal experience for Luke to be called down by his mom, but he tried to give it no thought as he bounded down the stairs that day. He could faintly hear the sound of a car starting up and leaving outside as he turned his attention towards his mom, “Hey mom, what’s up?”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he saw his mother stare down at the parcel with a slight, almost unnoticeable, frown. The older woman walked towards her son, giving him a weak smile as she spoke to him, “A h/c haired girl dropped this off for you. She seemed upset.”

That was even more confusing to Luke. Who would drop him off a parcel, and why would they be upset? He took the package off of his mother, flipping it around to look at the neat handwriting splayed out on the envelope that sat on top of the tan packaging of the parcel. That was your handwriting, but why would you send him a letter and a parcel?

Giving his mom a muttered thanks, Luke doesn’t stay around for any small talk and instead goes back up into his room, kicking the door shut behind him, all of his attention now on the parcel. Something is wrong, he knows that.

The guitar that Luke was playing before he was called down was long forgotten about as he sat down on the edge of his best, ripping the tan paper that you had wrapped the item in. You wrapped it as if it was a gift but it wasn’t. It was his hoodie he had given you the previous night in the car. Why did you not just return this yourself?

He placed the hoodie next to him on his bed, the envelope still in his hand. He was confused. Yet, as he opened the envelope and the key fell onto his lap everything started to fall into place. That was the house key he gave you so that you could come over whenever he needed you. With that, his stomach fell. No.

Luke was far from dumb, and he could already tell what this was going to be. He had dumped girls over text, he had dumped them in person, and just from the start of your letter, he knew what you were writing to him about. He just didn’t want to believe it.

Dear Luke,

This was probably not what you were imagining to get. Maybe you were imagining a present, or maybe you had a parcel that you were supposed to be getting delivered or something but this isn’t like that. Apologies for possibly getting your hopes up, but this way everything will be easier. I won’t have to fumble over my words and you won’t have to sit in embarrassment as some random girl tells you she no longer wants to have sex with you.

After that last statement, I can already tell you’ve probably stopped reading this, possibly ripped it up, or set it on fire and that’s alright. Yet, no matter how cliché it sounds, this isn’t your fault. This...Whatever we had was great while it lasted, especially at the start but now I have to search for something else. For something more...romantic.

I know you aren’t the romantic type, that had become obvious to me over the past months we have been involved with each other and that’s perfectly okay. I never expected anything more from you. I didn’t expect me to ever want anything more either but the more I watch the girls in the hallways with their boyfriend’s sweatshirts on, holding hands, kissing, hugging I can’t help but yearn for that.

I know I can never ask you to give me that because that was not our deal. I was never supposed to want anything more than meaningless sex, but I did, and I do. I’m just sorry it had taken me this long to realize this was not what I wanted; for either of us.

I think it’s best we don’t contact each other again, whether it be over the phone or in real life, not to give ourselves time to heal but to give us time to recover: for you to find a new girl that will give you everything I have and more; less commitment and more adrenaline and for me to find someone that will give me what I want. These last few months have been an interesting experience, and I wish you all the best.

I’m sorry.

You were gone, and you weren’t planning on coming back.

. . .

Luke had never been one for romance. The whole ‘teenage sweethearts' thing wasn’t for him. He knew that a lot of girls would kill to be in a relationship with him, but it was for popularity; you didn’t want that. Popularity was not a factor for you at all, Luke knew that even if he didn’t speak to you much.

Unbeknownst to you, Luke watched you too. Your small manners and quirks, and quickly became good at reading you. That was how he knew you were embarrassed in the car, even if he couldn’t see you blush. Luke knew a lot more about you than you suspected but the one thing he didn’t know was that you liked romance. Yet, it seemed that was new to you too.

He thought you were all about the adrenaline and hook-ups like he was, and after seeing how you were on the first night you guys spent together, he thought you were more experienced than you had been. Walking through school felt different now as he glanced over at your locker, noticing your lack of presence. It didn’t feel right.

It was like an itch at his fingers, that something was off about him and he didn’t like it. Throughout the class, he couldn’t focus, his mind in a muddle and hands lightly trembling. It was like withdrawal. Withdrawal from you.

It wasn’t long before Luke walked out of the classroom, not caring about asking for teacher permission. Having a rich dad certainly had its benefits. The school was mostly funded by well-off individuals, allowing the school funds to pay teachers and make the school the best it could be, and with his dad being one of the main ones, he could get away with a lot. Luke’s dad never being around never really was an issue for Luke, he didn’t know what having a dad present was like. Luke was just happy he could get away with a lot of things like skipping class and not handing in homework.

He made his way down the corridor, subconsciously finding himself heading towards the music department. It was abnormally quiet down there, normally the music department was bustling with sound, but maybe he would find sanity in the silence. That was what he was banking on.

A new sound evaded his senses however, the soft playing of piano keys in a nice and calming melody and he found himself drifting towards the sound. What he was met with, he was surprised. Leaning against the door frame, he watched you, your back turned to him, but he could tell from a mile away that it was you, “I didn’t know that you played.”

The piano playing stopped, indicating that you heard him, but you made no turn to move. He sighed, eyes looking over your figure before walking towards you. He slid next to you on the piano, looking over at your face, the direction of your gaze staying firmly ahead, not daring to stray to look over at him.

His gaze moved back down to the piano keys as he softly played a tune, clearing his throat a little, “Where is everyone?”

“Spirit assembly, they’ll be gone for the next two periods,” You replied monotonously as you continued to stare straight forward. Luke’s eyes stayed on the side of your face, not even looking down at the keys as he played effortlessly. You turned to face him, gesturing towards his face then to his hands, “Is this supposed to psych me out or something?”

Raising his eyebrows, Luke shook his head, his fingers lifting off of the piano keys, “What? No!”

“Whatever, Patterson,” You grumbled, getting up off of the piano seat and going to walk away, only for Luke to grab onto your lower arm in an attempt to stop you, “What?”

“I- uh- I just wanted to say you were good at playing the piano,” Luke commented dumbly, giving you a smile to which you responded with a blank stare. Luke did mean it when he said you were good at playing the piano but that was not what he meant to say. He meant to say something that would make you stay, that would get you to kiss him, to hold hands, and to be happy with him.

Because although he didn’t know it until he got your letter, he knew clearly now. He wanted to be with you, whether that meant fuck buddies, or if it meant dating with every single string attached.

“Really, Patterson? What are you trying to do here? Compliment me back into getting into bed with you?”

“Of course not,” Luke dismissed, climbing over the piano seat so that he stood right in front of you. He grabbed both of your hands, squeezing them in his lightly as he looked into your eyes, “Listen, I’m sorry.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him, confusion striking you as you asked, “What have you got to be sorry about, Patterson?”

“Everything. Y/n, I-I’m sorry that I initiated this whole thing between us two with the no feelings, because from that moment on when I said no feelings I was lying to not only you to but me.” Luke started, looking down at the floor as he began to let his feelings take over. It was one of the first times that Luke ever found himself relying on feelings to get words across, but it felt good to be able to let it out, “Y/n, I always thought I would never do relationships, but with you everything is different. I would hold hands with you down the hall, run around confessing my love for you. I would kiss you and hug you until the sun rose. I would do anything for you, y/n/n.”

Luke’s hazel stared down at your eyes, his ramble coming to an end, making him whisper the end part as he leaned closer to you. Whilst one hand still held onto your hands, one of his hands was on the side of your face, a calloused thumb stroking your cheek gently as he bent down to make direct eye contact with you.

You were dumbfounded. Luke Patterson just confessed his love for you. Luke Patterson. You didn’t know what to say. You never thought that Luke would ever be the type of person to chase after a girl because he wasn’t normally. So why was he so eager about you? He never seemed to show any interest but maybe he was like you; hiding your feelings until they become unbearable.

Butterflies formed in your stomach whilst you tried your best to fight off the smile that came on to your face, looking at Luke with soft eyes, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Luke nodded his head with a light laugh, a smile on his face. You didn’t say anything in return and instead, you connected your lips with his. You had kissed Luke one hundred times before but nothing compared to the electricity of the kiss you felt right now.

Whilst normally the adrenaline flooded your veins, instead, it was love. It was different from what you were used to, but every touch of Luke on you felt like sparks, like the passion you had put into the kiss sparked electricity with it.

Luke disconnected your lips as he looked down, his hand letting go of your face as his arms went lower, beckoning you to jump up with his head, so you did. With you now in Luke’s arms, you reconnected your lips again, hands pulling on the brown strands of hair on the back of his head.

You barely even paid attention to the fact that Luke walked over to the piano as you deepened the kiss, his teeth biting gently down on your bottom lip, making you open your mouth in surprise. He took the opportunity for his tongue to explore your mouth, and you allowed it, pulling yourself closer to his chest, trying to get as close as you could to the boy. The boy who just confessed his love for you.

The spine of the piano was folded down and Luke placed the top of the piano down, causing you to disconnect your lips and look down at the sleek, polished, black top of the piano that Luke placed you on top of. You looked back at Luke, a look of hesitation to which he nodded, “Luke, no, we can’t do it here! What if we get caught?”

“You said it yourself y/n/n, everyone will be at spirit rally for the next hour,” Luke smirked, kissing you which made you smirk into the kiss as well.

With that, Luke lightly pushed you down onto the piano, climbing over the top of you, letting out breathlessly, “I love you.”

Luke didn’t wait for your response as he bent down to your neck, sucking on it, prepared to leave many marks littering your skin. However, you didn’t oppose, instead your hands made their way up Luke’s back and into his hair, letting out a gasp as he sunk his teeth lightly into your skin.

And so the games begin.

#charlie gillespie x y/n #luke julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #julie and the phantoms x reader #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie #julie and the phantoms luke #luke jatp #luke patterson

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imagineteamfreewill · 4 years

Text

Here’s to Witches

Title: Here’s to Witches

Pairing: Reader x Sam

Word Count: 1,331

Warnings: None

Summary: Sam and the reader are each gifted something after saving a group of housewives on a hunt, and Sam’s gift is exponentially more... enthusiastic than the reader’s.

A/N: This is completely unedited, so please excuse any mistakes. If you see any glaring ones, please feel free to (politely) send me an ask or a message so I can go in and fix it. The gifs that inspired this fic can be found at the end because I thought they were too cute to not include. Also, feedback makes the world go round and makes my blog a lot more enjoyable for everyone! Please reblog this fic with your thoughts or send me an ask or a message to tell me what you think. Enjoy!

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“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this happy,” you said as you leaned against the dresser. The knobs dug into the small of your back and your shoulders but you ignored them as Sam looked up at you with a wide smile.

“I just can’t believe this is real,” he replied.

Bones jumped up on his hind legs, pushing himself slightly off the floor as he tried to regain Sam’s full attention. He succeeded and you couldn’t help but laugh at the way Sam raised the pitch of his voice to talk to his new—or rather, old—furry friend.

“You know, when the witch said she’d brought back someone dear to your heart, I figured we’d come back to the motel to find Bobby or something.”

Sam glanced up at you again, his smile undimmed. “I didn’t think it would be Bones either, but honestly…”

Smiling, you moved away from the dresser to see if your phone had regained some battery. It had died on the way back from the abandoned winery where the coven had been holding its meetings. Thankfully, you hadn’t needed it to call for help. The coven was more domestic than anything you’d ever encountered on a hunt; the witches mostly used their magic to bring dead houseplants back to life, get the smell out of laundry they’d forgotten in the washer, and thaw meat that they’d taken out of the freezer an hour or two too late. You’d been in the midst of trying to figure out how to ask them to stick with what they knew when the real troublemakers had shown up, figurative guns blazing, in an attempt to harm the housewives who were in almost too deep.

You and Sam had eradicated the bad witches with relative ease and the handful of women had been so grateful to you that they’d put their collective energies together to give you each a gift. They’d given you something you’d thought long gone—a box of photos from your childhood—and they’d promised Sam something “dear to his heart”.

After unlocking your phone, you quietly placed an order for a few pizzas, knowing that Sam was probably starving after the busy day you’d had. You were about to press the submit button when something bumped against your leg.

“I think he likes you,” Sam said, and you looked down to find Bones sitting at your feet. He was giving you a heart-warming doggy smile and his tail was going a mile a minute. It was almost comical how hard he was trying to sit despite the fact that his butt was wiggling right along with his tail.

You chuckled and crouched down to run your hand over Bones’ back. “Hey buddy! Are you hungry too? Is that why you came over here?” you cooed. Your voice jumped up an octave, just like Sam’s had, but Bones responded quickly and was up in your face as he tried to get as much of your attention and touch as possible.

Sam laughed too, standing up and stretching his arms above his head while he watched. He was clearly enjoying having Bones around and in the back of your mind, you sent up a silent prayer that this wasn’t a temporary thing. If Bones was ripped away from him, it would be a heartbreaking loss. Sam had already suffered so much and you wanted to ensure as much as you could that when he wasn’t on a hunt, he was happy and comfortable.

“You want some pepperoni, Bones? Huh?”

The dog yipped in response and you grinned, then stood. You quickly placed the order on your phone while Bones tried to get more attention from Sam.

“Pizza should be here in about an hour,” you said, and Sam nodded. “So what do we do now? Think Dean’ll be okay with Bones being at the bunker? And in the Impala, for that matter?”

Sam shrugged. Bones was standing on the bed now so that Sam could pet him without having to sit down or bend over.

“Okay, well maybe we should pick up supplies before we get back,” you suggested. “That way, Dean can’t say it would be easy to get rid of him. And we should probably make an appointment with the vet in town, too…”

You pulled out your phone again, but as you were starting to research the veterinarian offices in Lebanon, you felt Sam’s eyes on you. Slowly, you glanced up from your phone and met his gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sam answered, shaking his head with a smile. “I’m just happy.”

“Okay… Weirdo.” You went back to the website. After another minute or two, you still felt Sam’s eyes on you and you sighed, dropping your hand down to your side so you could fully look at him. “What? Why are you staring at me, Sam?” The question came out with a laugh and Sam’s smile widened.

“I don’t know. I’m just… happy. I’m happy that you’re okay with this,” he said.

“Why wouldn’t I be? You love him and I think having a dog would be great.”

"Well I knew you liked dogs, but the last time we talked about getting one, you said that you didn’t think it would be a great idea. What changed?”

Shrugging, you tucked your phone in your pocket and went over to them, making sure to start petting Bones immediately so you wouldn’t get licked in the face again. You pointedly avoided making eye contact with Sam, instead focusing on the retriever who was practically vibrating with happiness at all the attention he was getting from the two of you.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” you answered. “I guess it’s because I don’t want you to have to give him up, you know? I like to see you happy, and Bones makes you happy. He makes me happy, too,” you added, knowing that Sam would call you out on it if you didn’t.

Sam hummed in response, and the two of you continued to pet Bones in silence, only occasionally laughing or talking to the dog when it felt right.

An hour later, you were setting up the pizza while Sam took Bones outside for a break. The dog had come with his own collar—thank you, witches!—but he’d had to find a rope in the trunk of the Impala to use as a leash.

“It smells good!” Sam said as he opened the door and stepped inside. You glanced over at him with a smile, then laughed when you saw Bones pulling at the makeshift leash to get nearer to the table. When Sam dropped it, he made a beeline for the pizzas and you had to quickly shove him back down onto all four legs so that your dinner didn’t come with a side of dog hair.

“Whoa, buddy! Easy, calm down! You’ll get your dinner soon enough!”

Sam was grinning from ear to ear and you grinned back, feeling the contagious joy bubble up inside of you.

“Pepperoni?” he asked, and you nodded, grabbing the little container full of slices they’d included and holding it out for him. Bones tracked the movement intently and you laughed again as Sam grabbed it and pulled off the lid.

Instantly, Bones was sitting down, his tail wagging as he stared up at Sam.

“Well, at least he knows to sit,” you laughed. Sam laughed too, and soon the three of you were chowing down on your respective dinners.

We’re like a little family, you thought as you settled down beside Sam against the headboard. You’d both torn the top of the pizza boxes off so that the box was easier to hold in your lap, and he’d turned on a mindless movie while you’d made sure Bones had water.

“Here’s to happy endings,” Sam said, holding out his beer.

You clinked yours against it with a smile, then a quiet chuckle. “And here’s to witches, which is something I’d never thought I’d say!”

(Gifs are by @frodo-sam can be found here. I couldn’t find them in the tumblr gif search or I would have included them that way, sorry!)

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jwritesandrambles · 3 years

Text

“Supposed to Be”

Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!

I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head did some really cool art for this!

(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)

Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.

The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back.

He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in.

The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”

Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy.

“Hood,” The teen greeted.

“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing.

“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence.

Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled.

Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch.

Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat.

“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind.

“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission.

Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch.

“Um... yes, that’s all,” the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling.

Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed.

“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.

“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.

Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.

Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him.

“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return.

“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city.

Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”

“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.

“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.

Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that!

Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.

The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?

Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested.

Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm.

“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.

Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.

Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice.

Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.

Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.

“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.

“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”

The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask.

This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.

Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.

He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before.

Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation. No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.

Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.

Jason already had his gun drawn.

“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.

“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’

“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.

“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all.

Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.

Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.

“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”

“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-

Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-

Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.

“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.

As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister.

Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.

Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”

Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips.

Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned.

“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.

Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.

Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper.

The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”

And the canister...

Burst.

The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.

Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.

Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this.

He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!

A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.

Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.

Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason?

The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas-- inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though.

Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk- His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for.

“Bingo.”

Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.

There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet.

He’d done it!

The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.

Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips.

That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.

“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal.

The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply.

Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away.

Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.

“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips.

Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry.

Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs.

Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience.

“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room.

Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk.

Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”

“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus.

Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step.

“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”

“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?”

“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”

Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.

He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.

Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again.

“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”

“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!”

Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father.

“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.

“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it.

When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead.

Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.

Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath.

Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case.

He quickly scooted across the floor to him.

“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”

Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.

“I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.

Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands.

“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly.

Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands.

Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s.

Why did Jason do that?

“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.

“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips.

“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”

Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling.

Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head.

“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”

They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.

“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile.

Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”

Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.

“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.”

“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.

“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.

“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.

“Too bad, I decided I am.”

“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”

“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“I speak only truth.”

The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.

#batman #robin #jason todd #redhood #red hood #Tim Drake #red robin #batfam big bang 2021 #Just for Fun #idk how tumblr works

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rhosyn-du · 3 years

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Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Nine

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321 Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Nine

Wednesday nights at The Hunter’s Moon weren’t exactly hopping, but the small crowd would do for Jace’s purposes. The atmosphere was familiar, at least, and he wasn’t likely to find better at any of the other bars in town. He’d been on uncertain footing for months, not knowing how to be whatever he and Simon had been. But now, alone, unwanted, and with a soul-deep ache in his chest, he was finally back on familiar ground. This feeling, Jace knew exactly what to do with, and step one was getting very drunk.

He almost hesitated when he saw Maia behind the bar. She must have switched shifts with someone, because she didn’t usually work Wednesdays, and Jace wasn’t prepared for her too-knowing eyes or her pity.

But Maia greeted him with her usual easy smile, so either she didn’t know Simon had moved out, or she didn’t know him half as well as she pretended to.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight,” she said. “Isn’t tomorrow your god-awful early Latin class?”

Jace shook his head. “That’s Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Can I get a double shot of Stoli?”

Maia’s smile slipped, just a bit, but she nodded and poured his drink. “Starting off strong right out the gate,” she observed. “You want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” Jace tossed back the shot. The heat that followed it down felt less like the usual ripping off an emotional Band-Aid and more like rubbing salt into an open wound. “What I want is another one of those and to find some company for the night.”

Maia paused, bottle in hand. “Okay, no.” She wasn’t even pretending to smile anymore. “I can’t actually stop you from riding whatever self-destructive train you’ve decided to hop on, but I don’t have to enable it, either.”

“You’re a bartender,” Jace said flatly. “It’s your job to pour drinks.”

“I’m your friend, and I’m not pouring you anything else until you tell me why you’re in my bar looking for a drunken hookup instead of at home with your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Don’t be obtuse,” Maia told him. “Where’s Simon?”

Jace met her eyes. “Simon left. Can I have my vodka now?”

“What do you mean, ‘he left’? Oh god, did you guys break up?” And there, finally, was the pity he’d been expecting. At least it came with another shot of vodka.

“Can’t break up if you’re not actually dating.” Jace downed his shot. This one didn’t soothe any better, but at least it didn’t make things worse.

Maia gave him a flat look. “You’ve been sleeping together, exclusively, for the past five months.”

“That was just—” He shook his head, trying not to choke on words that he knew were true but still felt like a lie. “Just a couple hookups between friends.”

“Yeah, that’s complete bullshit.” Maia’s tone was so certain. Jace wanted to believe her.

“Don’t know why you’re so surprised. Simon and I hook up with our friends all the time.”

“No,” Maia said slowly. “You hook up with your friends. So does Lily. So do I, sometimes. But Simon?” She gave him a significant look. “Simon doesn’t do casual. He’s just a great guy who stays friends with most of his exes.”

Jace didn’t even try to hide the bitterness in his smile. “Guess I’m an exception to many rules.”

Maia’s voice was soft when she spoke again. “I don’t actually believe you do casual with someone you’ve been pining over for the better part of a year, either.”

Jace looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me. Neither of us was actually drunk enough to have forgotten that conversation.” When Jace didn’t respond, she asked, “Why’d he leave?”

“Because he wants something real,” Jace told her. “And he doesn’t want it with me.”

When Jace met her eyes again, he expected to see pity. What he got was pure skepticism. “He said that?”

“Yep.” He lifted his glass. “Pour me another?”

She pursed her lips, then shook her head. “I’ll bring you beer.”

Jace sighed, but he didn’t argue. Maia was a much better friend than she was a bartender.

“You know,” Maia said when she returned with his beer, “I’ve known Simon a long time, and that really doesn’t sound like something he’d say.”

Jace lifted his glass in a toasting gesture. “Guess I just bring out the best in people.”

She sighed heavily, leaning on the bar. “Look, I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what you guys said, and he’s never actually talked to me about it, so I don’t know for sure whether he feels the same way about you that you do about him, but anyone who’s not a complete idiot can see he cares about you. That’s not something he makes any effort to hide. And Simon would never say something that cruel to someone he cares about. So, whatever he said? I’m pretty sure it’s not what you heard.”

“Did you just call me a complete idiot?” He needed to make a joke out of it because he couldn’t let himself believe what Maia was saying. He didn’t have it in him to hope again.

“Yes.” She nudged his hand with her elbow. “But you really should talk to Simon.”

“Don’t think just because you’re finally dating the woman you’ve been crushing on for ages that makes you some kind of relationship expert.”

“Oh, I don’t,” she assured him. “I just think I’m more of a relationship expert than you.”

Jace silently flipped her off, then pulled out his phone. He stared at it for a long time before finally texting Simon.

Can we talk? Please.

As soon as he hit send, he put his phone face-down on the bar and turned his full attention to drinking his beer. Maia gave him an approving nod before going to help the trio of customers that had just walked up to the bar.

It took Simon almost ten minutes to respond, and Jace wasn’t sure how to take it when he did.

Bat says it’s fine if you come over.

It wasn’t exactly a gilded invitation, and Jace was pretty sure he didn’t want to have whatever conversation he and Simon were going to have with Bat there, but it also wasn’t a no. Jace could live with not a no. He’d have to.

He caught Maia’s eye. “Close me out?”

“Sure.” She took his card and scanned it. “Where you headed?”

“Bat’s place. Simon’s staying there.”

He expected at least a little bit of gloating, but all he got was a smile and his card back. “Cool.”

Jace shoved his wallet back in his pocket and stood to put his jacket on. Maia stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Hey. If this doesn’t go the way you want it to, promise you’ll come back here to say I told you so instead of finding a different bar to drown your sorrows in?”

Jace scoffed. “Like I’d ever pass up a chance to rub it in your face that you were wrong.”

Maia gave his arm an encouraging squeeze before letting go. Jace downed the last of his beer and hoped he wasn’t about to fuck things up even worse.

~~~

“How did my place become the designated space for heartbroken sulking?” Bat asked when he opened his door to find Jace standing there.

“It’s because you have the best couch to crash on and the nicest gaming setup,” Jace told him. “Also because you’re too nice to kick your friends out even when we probably deserve it. Can I come in?”

Bat watched him for a long moment, then stepped back and let the door swing all the way open to allow Jace inside.

“I’m gonna run to the store to pick up some more chips,” Bat announced loudly. “I will be back in half an hour, and if any bodily fluids end up on my couch while I’m gone, you are both permanently banned from my apartment.”

“Dude,” came Simon’s voice from the direction of Bat’s living room.

“Just saying,” Bat said, and then he was closing the door behind him, leaving Jace standing in the entryway.

Jace took a deep breath to steady himself, then a second one before finally forcing himself to walk into the living room.

He found Simon on the couch, feet tucked underneath him like he always sat when he was upset. Simon didn’t look up, instead staring intently at the hole in the knee of his worn Boba Fett pajamas as he poked at the threads.

“Hey,” Jace said.

“Hey.” Simon’s eyes stayed trained on his knee.

Okay. This was fine. Jace could work with this. Probably.

He sat down on the far end of the couch and tried again. “Look, I know I’m shit at apologies, but I can’t even try if I don’t know why you’re pissed at me.”

Simon’s shoulders slumped, and he finally looked at Jace with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m not pissed at you.”

“Really? Because you’re acting kind of pissed at me.”

“I’m not—” Simon made a frustrated sound. “Okay, I’m kind of pissed at you, but I know it’s super unfair, and I’m, you know,” he shrugged, “working through it.”

“And when you’re done working through it, then you’ll come home?” Jace’s question sounded desperate, even to his own ears.

“I think—” Simon went back to studying the hole in his pajamas. “I think I’m going to spend the summer back in New York with my mom. Bat said I can crash on his couch for a couple weeks until finals are over.”

“Simon.” Jace was shaking his head, but Simon just kept right on going.

“I can—I can keep paying my half of rent until you find another roommate.”

“I don’t want another roommate.” I want you. Jace shook the thought away. That could wait. All that right now mattered was keeping Simon from walking out of his life.

“Look,” Jace continued, “I know things are kind of weird between us right now, but you don’t have to leave. We can fix this. We can just—just go back to how things were before, like nothing ever happened, and it’ll be—” It would be agonizing. Jace wasn’t sure he could do it. “It’ll be fine.”

“I can’t just go back to how things were before, Jace.” Simon’s glare was withering. “It’s not that easy.”

Jace ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know I fucked up. I shouldn’t have kissed you at Alec’s wedding, but I swear it won’t happen again.”

“You didn’t—Jace, we kissed each other at the wedding.”

Jace glared back, letting anger mask his hurt. “Then what exactly is the problem?” If he didn’t know what he’d done, he couldn’t fix it, and if he couldn’t fix it… “If it’s not about the kiss, then why the hell won’t you just come home?”

“Because I love you, you asshole!”

Simon looked almost as surprised by his own outburst as Jace felt. Jace stared. He couldn’t have heard that right. Because if Simon loved him, then he wouldn’t be glaring at him like he just kicked his favorite puppy. If Simon loved him, he wouldn’t have left.

“I love you,” Simon repeated, calmer now, “and I can’t keep pretending that I don’t.”

“Simon,” Jace croaked. His voice didn’t seem to want to work.

“That’s why I can’t live with you anymore, because I’m never going to be able to get over you if I do.”

“Simon,” Jace tried again, voice stronger now.

“And that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. But I think if I just take some time, and some space, then maybe I can—”

Jace let out a frustrated growl. “Will you please stop talking for five seconds so I can tell you that I love you, too?”

It was Simon’s turn to stare. “You—I don’t understand.”

Jace let out a bark of laughter that was half hysterical, half wonder. “Yeah, this is. It’s a lot.”

“But,” Simon’s voice was soft, vulnerable, “if you love me, then why don’t you want to be with me?”

“Simon,” he reached out to cup Simon’s cheek with his hand, “what could possibly have given you the idea that I don’t want to be with you?”

“You!” Simon’s voice was indignant, but he didn’t pull away, instead leaning into Jace’s touch. “You’ve said it like a million times! That you don’t date. That you’re not a relationship kind of guy.”

“Yeah, because I suck at it.” It wasn’t an easy admission to make, and Jace had to force himself not to cringe away from showing this much vulnerability. But for Simon, he would. “You were right when you said I don’t know how to be bad at things, and I make a terrible boyfriend. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be yours.”

Simon let out a choked laugh, winding his arms around Jace’s neck. “You were actually a pretty great boyfriend, even when you were just pretending.”

“Simon. I was never pretending.”

Simon made a wounded noise and dragged him the remaining inches between them into a kiss. It was messy and the angle was awkward as hell, but Jace wouldn’t have traded it for anything. He kissed back, putting everything he felt into it. And then Simon was throwing a leg over him to straddle his lap, and the angle—along with everyone else—was so much better.

“Dude, what did I say?”

They broke apart at Bat’s very annoyed question. Jace had been too distracted to even hear the door.

“Technically, we didn’t break your rule.” Simon’s grin was wide and bright and a little dazed as he disentangled himself from Jace. Jace suspected he was wearing a similar expression. “No bodily fluids on your couch.”

“I expect more than a technicality when your fluids are involved,” Bat said flatly. “And I’m happy you guys got your shit together or whatever, but please get the fuck out of my apartment now.”

“I think we were just leaving, anyway,” Jace said.

“Oh yeah,” Simon agreed. “We’ve got some, uh, stuff to take care of back home.”

Jace barely even heard the pained noise Bat made over the sudden burst of joy in his chest at hearing Simon call their apartment “home” again. Grinning like an absolute idiot, he let Simon pull him out the door and down the street toward their apartment. Toward home.

~~~

It took them far longer to get back to the apartment than the distance warranted. Probably because they couldn’t seem to go a full block without kissing, which inevitably led to making out against the nearest wall until one of them remembered that they actually had an apartment with nice features like beds and privacy.

“This is ridiculous,” Jace said half a block down from their building, ignoring the fact that he was the one who had Simon pinned to the neighboring complex’s laundry room wall. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Either kiss me again or get moving,” Simon said, grinding against the thigh Jace had between his legs. “I’d really like to get you naked before I have to leave for morning classes.”

With a put-upon sigh, Jace stepped back. “It’s really annoying when you’re right about things, you know that?”

“I know that you say ‘annoying’ when you mean ‘hot,’” Simon said with a smug grin.

“That is not at all a thing that I do,” Jace lied.

They managed to make it back to the apartment with no more detours and practically fell through the door with how eager they were to get their hands and mouths back on each other.

“Missed this,” Simon said between kisses. “Missed you.”

“It’s been like half a week,” Jace said, like he hadn’t missed Simon like he’d lost a limb, blood loss included. “And you’re the idiot who decided we should break up, so whose fault is that?”

“We weren’t even dating, you dick. I didn’t think you wanted to.” Simon pulled away then, suddenly serious. “You do want to, though, right? You meant it when you said you want to be my boyfriend?”

“I can’t believe I fell in love with someone so dense,” Jace said with an affectionate smile. “Yes, I meant it.”

“Okay,” Simon said, smiling back. “Cool.”

“Now that we’ve got that sorted out,” Jace leaned forward, lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from Simon’s, “can I please take you to bed already?”

Simon kissed him, quick and hard, before grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket and walking backward down the hallway, dragging Jace with him.

“I like it when you say please,” Simon said. “It’s definitely something you should do more often.”

“Yeah?” Jace used the fact that his own hands were free to unbuckle Simon’s belt while they walked. “You gonna make me?”

“I thought that was implied.” Simon pushed the door to Jace’s bedroom open and shoved Jace through it.

Jace took another step back, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it vaguely in the direction of his desk chair. “You really think you can?”

“I’ve done it before.” Simon followed and slid his hands up beneath Jace’s shirt. “I can remind you how it went if you forgot.”

“Could have been a fluke.” Jace’s words probably would have been more convincing if his entire body hadn’t jolted when Simon’s thumbs very deliberately brushed over his nipples before moving to tug his shirt over his head.

“You’re right,” Simon said as he pulled his own shirt over his head. “We’ll need a bigger data set if we’re going to do a proper statistical analysis.”

“Less math.” Jace pulled open Simon’s fly and reached a hand inside his boxers. “More sex.”

Simon rocked into the touch. “I didn’t hear a ‘please’ in there.”

Jace snorted. “Bite me.”

“I mean, I was going to suck you, but if you’d rather I bite—”

Jace cut him off with a kiss. By the way Simon smiled against his mouth, he thought that might have been exactly the reaction he was going for. Jace couldn’t be annoyed by it, though. Not when Simon was making those soft, eager noises into their kisses while they divested each other of their remaining clothes. Not when every touch, every kiss felt like coming home. Not when they finally tumbled into bed and Simon kissed perfect and so hot and love you into his mouth and skin.

It wasn’t until Simon had him practically writhing with want, lazily fingering him while he traced patterns across Jace’s hipbone with his tongue, that Jace realized he’d meant it about making him say ‘please.’ The realization must have shown on his face because Simon, the utter bastard, winked at him before stroking his finger against Jace’s prostate, just once. It was almost as infuriating as it was hot.

Jace’s resolve not to beg lasted right up until Simon shifted so he could reach Jace’s other hip with his mouth, causing his own cock, hard and leaking, to brush against Jace’s calf. Knowing that Simon was just as turned on as he was, it was too much.

He rocked his hips down as Simon added a second finger, trying desperately to get some pressure where he needed it. The stretch felt good, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough. “Are you waiting for a gilded invitation?”

“You know what I’m waiting for,” Simon said mildly, cheek just barely grazing Jace’s cock as he lowered his head to place an open-mouthed kiss on the seam of Jace’s thigh.

“Fuck, fuck, fine,” Jace panted. “Please.”

Simon didn’t waste any time to gloat, swallowing him down to the root in one smooth motion at the same time that he crooked his fingers to press against Jace’s prostate. Jace let out a strangled sob, fighting to keep his hips still and failing miserably. If Simon’s answering moan was any indication, he didn’t mind in the slightest, so Jace stopped trying, losing himself in the heat of Simon’s mouth, the perfect pressure of his fingers.

He glanced down, needing to see, and was very nearly undone by the sight of Simon’s lips stretched around his cock, the obvious enthusiasm for what he was doing. Simon caught his gaze and swallowed—very deliberately—around the head of his cock. Jace let out a keening noise as his body shook and he spilled his release down Simon’s throat.

Simon kept working him with mouth and fingers until it was just pushing the edges of too much, and then he was crawling up Jace’s body to kiss him, needy and desperate, as he jerked himself off. Jace had just enough presence of mind left to kiss back, to slide one hand between them to join Simon’s on his cock until Simon was shaking apart above him, painting their hands and stomachs with his come.

“See?” Simon said a few minutes later, still half-breathless. “I knew I could get you to say ‘please.’”

“Fuck you,” Jace mumbled without any real heat, too fucked-out to muster a proper comeback.

Simon gave him a crooked grin. “Next time, I should make you ask nicely, though.”

Jace thought he probably shouldn’t be as into that idea as he was, especially since he’d just come, but he absolutely was, his mind spinning out an elaborate vision of what that would be like. Not that he was going to admit it.

“Shut up and cuddle me,” he said instead.

Simon’s answering smirk said he knew exactly what Jace wasn’t saying, but he didn’t argue, curling his body into Jace’s with a contented sigh.

“Hey,” Jace said quietly. “I love you.”

He felt Simon’s smile against his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

Eventually, Jace knew, they would have to move. They were both in desperate need of a shower, and he should probably put something in his body that wasn’t alcoholic if he didn’t want to feel like death in the morning. But for now, he was content to stay like this, wrapped in the arms of the man he loved. And when they did finally make their way out of bed, he’d be fine with that, too, and whatever came after. As long as Simon was beside him.

#shadowhunters #shmb2021 #jimon #jimon fic #jace wayland #simon lewis

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finalfrontierpioneer · 4 years

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2020 Fic Recs

Okay, I did a fic rec list last year for 2019, and nobody asked for this, but you know what, I’m gonna do another one. Really the only thing I wanna look back on about 2020 is the fic- bc damn there were some good ones!

Same as last year, these are fics that were completed in 2020. (So no in-progress fics here)

So here goes, 20 fic recs for 2020, in no particular order! And full disclosure, these are all totally different ratings/pairings/whatever.

I tried to tag all the authors who had tumblrs, but i probably missed some, and some of them aren’t actually working but hey! the username is there!

Some stucky bc of course

Sharpened Claws by tragicama (Explicit)

Steve Rogers has a unique talent of getting himself into danger. As one of New York City’s best homicide detectives, it isn’t easy to ignore the constant call of trouble and gore. At least, that’s what he tries to tell his overprotective and brooding boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, even if he knows it might be a lie.

Bucky is dangerous, gorgeous. . .and a werewolf. As the Alpha of New York City, he is easily considered the most powerful being in the world. But when Bucky begins to lose his control over his shift, he slowly becomes aware of a bond that sends him reeling, and one he’d never thought possible.

But everything is not as it seems. After a homicide case unleashes a sequence of events that neither Steve nor Bucky are prepared for, they soon find themselves entangled with a danger that threatens to rip them apart. With the help of Steve’s partner and best friend, Sam, Bucky and Steve navigate a dark web of pack politics, masquerade balls, and a crash course in what it means to be a pack, even as a greater danger looms. And one that might succeed in ripping them apart.

These Happy Gilded Years by crinklefries @spacerenegades, nalonzoo (Teen)

Steve Rogers, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and mostly happy disposition, had lived twenty-three years in the world with very little to distress or vex him.

( Steve is wealthy and and charming, with good humor and good temper, doted upon by his mother and the highest of New York Society, with no one to ever criticize or say the word no to him. Well, other than Bucky. But he doesn't count.

He is also warm and friendly and has a talent for matchmaking. Or so he thinks. Actually, he's kind of terrible at it.

Importantly, Steve will definitely never fall in love or marry, himself. He tells everyone this, repeatedly. Well anyway, we'll see about that. )

Jane Austen's Emma, but a little gayer, set in 1890s Gilded Era New York City

Demon Seed by SucculentHyena (Mature)

[Transcript 00:11:48]

MS: You were with him the most throughout the course of events, both before and after. Your account could shed light on something we may have missed.

JB: What difference will that make?

MS: It could make all the difference. Captain Rogers’ case is unprecedented, he’s the most intact victim we’ve ever recovered-

JB: [laughing] You call that intact?

A Noble Steed by alby_mangroves @albymangroves or @artgroves, leveragehunters (Teen)

"You say the Warhorse showed up last night," Sam said in tones of profound doubt.

"Yeah," Steve replied.

"The Warhorse. The Warhorse of legend. Daelland's Warhorse."

"The same as the one on the back of the transit card, yes."

"And he appeared in your living room?"

Steve eyed the Warhorse, very large and very black and giving him a dubious look out of his strange grey eyes. "He's standing in it right now."

"Uh huh," Sam said.

"Hey, I'm not any happier about it than you are."

* * *

Steve's mom had left Daelland long before he was born, following her heart to New York, but she'd raised him on stories of its famous Warhorse. Before she died, he'd promised he'd go back and learn the country she'd come from.

That was why he was in Daelland. Not so Daelland's legendary Warhorse could appear in his living room. But planned or not that's what had happened—now Steve had to figure out what to do about it.

a hat, a horse (a Hyundai), and the will to ride by elkane @elkane, synonym4life @synonym-for-life (Explicit)

After Steve and Bucky rescue their pals from the Raft prison, they decide to dig deeper into Zemo’s involvement in the UN headquarters’ bombing which sends them on a backpacking trip across select European countries. Steve and Bucky believe this is a story about their mission. Scott Lang and Sam Wilson, who join them halfway through, believe it’s a story about their Eurotrip (and they’re probably right). This writer, however, has been waiting to tell you that the fic’s true mission is Steve and Bucky missioning towards missionary.

Follow them on their journey across Europe in tiny cars, packed subway trains and even on skis as they tumble down the Swiss Alps (in a fun way this time!), all the while reigniting untold feelings of the past through inappropriate sexual encounters and terrible communication skills.

someday at christmas (there’ll be no wars) by stevebuckiest @stevebuckyinc (not rated)

A mission on Christmas. Not even on Christmas, technically. A mission after Christmas which means he and Steve and the Howlies will be trekking through the tundra towards possible death on what used to be Bucky’s favorite day of the year. Jesus Christ.

(alternatively: bucky and steve try to make the best of a shitty situation)

the cabin by natalie_nebula (Explicit)

It felt like he… It felt like they were always so close. Everything seemed like it was under control. He remembers hearing Wanda’s voice, seeing a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. He remembers yelling something back at her, telling her to stop, to not come any closer. He remembers a bright flash, then a boom, and ringing in his ears. He remembers a black blur, and hands on his back, around his waist, then—darkness…

After the explosion in Lagos, Steve wakes up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and all he knows is that Bucky's the one who brought him there. While Sam, Nat, and the other Avengers try to figure out what happened to their friend, Steve takes the time away to heal—both his relationship with Bucky, and with himself. My cozy, romantic, and introspective Civil War rewrite.

Every Feeling by Nestri (Explicit)

Steve completely surprises Bucky with a visit, scent thick with heat. The Alpha keeps his hands to himself until Steve makes it clear he doesn't want him to.

Halbarry!

A Speedster and a Space Cop get into a Car by ChocolateTeapots @chocolateteapotsvis (Teen)

Hal and Barry embark on their most perilous mission yet: picking Wally up from the airport.

For Halbarry Week, Day 3: First Times “And you just called me Barry, genius”

Crosswind by Cinderstrato (Explicit)

Hal had collected plenty of regrets over the years. What was the weight of one more?

Just A Mark by the_butler @the-butler-fanstuff (Mature)

“What a nerd.”

Barry had been haunted by these words all his life, seeing as they were his soulmate’s mark. It came out during puberty, just like everyone else’s, but by then he was already well on the way to being a ‘nerd’ so to speak. He wasn’t just some guy claiming to be nerd because he was into Dungeons and Dragons or anime, oh no. He was a bona fide science nerd- went to interstate science fairs and competitions even.

—————(Originally a one-shot, now continued)——————

Barry Allen was working at the forensics lab of Central City PD when it waltzes the new transfer from Coast City, Detective Hal Jordan, not just into the lab but also into his life. There’s the matter of them being soulmates- but Barry is unconvinced. Science tells him there’s a likely chance that they’re just platonic soulmates, so Hal suggests an experiment of sorts: they go on three dates, and then decide whether or not they’re just platonic, or something more.

Tired by ceelolights @ceeloilights (Gen)

Hal comes home to Barry still working late into the night.

Last but most certainly not least, Jeronica:

The long way round to heaven by Bearfacedcheek (Mature)

“This could screw everything up. Jesus why couldn’t you just, fucking not?”

“I did just fucking not Jughead,” she retorts hotly. “I’ve been not for months. No one was ever supposed to know, least of all you. So, don’t blame me for what you saw when you invaded a private moment.”

“Oh, my bad Veronica,” sarcasm, his most comfortable armour, wraps itself around his words. “Did my near-death experience compromised your privacy? I’m sorry that my spirit took an astral fucking walk out of my almost corpse and y-”

“Don’t,” she gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth and it trembles visibly as she draws it away. “Don’t say that. Jesus Jughead we almost lost you.”

sadder, badder, cooler by thefudge @thefudge (Teen)

AU. Just who is Veronica's mysterious new husband? (based on season 5 spoilers)

all i’ll ever need is you by whatacoolkid @whatacoolkid (Teen)

jughead and veronica but make it ✨christmas✨

destined to be forgotten by bothromeoandjuliet @kindnessinpain2000 (Teen)

There are plenty of broken things in Riverdale - broken families, broken trust, broken hearts - but in the middle stands the two most broken things of all, Veronica Lodge and Forsythe 'Jughead' Jones.

(Jughead and Veronica learn about the Barchie kiss - this is the aftermath)

I Really (Don’t) Know What I Want by Bella_Dahlia @bella-dahlia (Mature)

There were many potential disasters to befall an average weirdo high school student; when one had an active imagination and a love for John Hughes films, as Jughead Jones did, you sort of assumed you had foresaw the possibilities. Plus, after solving a sordid murder and joining a gang, he really thought he gone through his fair share of teenaged trauma.

Having to fake a relationship to save his best friend from dedicating his life to a mafia and getting punched repeatedly in the process definitely had not crossed his mind before now.

——————————————

Or, Jughead and Veronica don’t really know what they’ve gotten themselves into.

all the lovers with no time for me by Krewlak (Mature)

jeroncia goes to stonewall. that's it. that's the fic.

call it what you want to by an_expensive_imagination (Teen)

“First things first,” Veronica says, reaching up to slide the ever-present gray beanie off his head, “no beanies in college.”

And here’s a one off random spideypool:

Shooting For Your Heart by X_Gon_Give_It (Teen)

“In my defense, I didn’t expect you to get hurt.”

“And I didn’t expect to be run out of town, yet here we are.”

He went suddenly stiff, “Wait...you were run out of town?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Peter grumbled, but when he looked up he did a double-take at Wade's confused expression. “Almighty, you really don’t know, do you?” he snapped the drawer shut, “Well, after that little fiasco by Two-Stone Canyon, a little rumor spread that me and you were in cahoots. The rumor got some ground and it turned the whole town against me. I was run out before I could defend my case. Why'dya think I was out there the other night to begin with?”

<><><><><><>

When Peter Parker, a deputy known as Webslinger, gets accused of working with the West's deadliest outlaw he finds himself on the run from the people he once trusted. In an effort to prove his innocence, he finds himself captured by the very outlaw tarnishing his name.

#fic recs #stucky #jeronica #halbarry #2020 fic recs

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syilcawrites · 4 years

Text

archived memories | 8

Series: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Type: Multi-Chapter Main pairing: Zelink (Zelda and Link) Rated: T Tags/Genre: pre-calamity, fluff (middle chapters mostly), hurt (toward the last chapters lmao), pining Summary: bits and pieces of zelink scenes strewn in between the canon memories in botw! Snippet from Ch 8: “She had always thought that the coolness of his eyes never resembled who he actually was, but this time, they reflected the true color of how he seemed at that moment—icy blue.” A/N: Between Memory 9-10 You can also read it on ao3! Click here to see all chapters on tumblr

chapter 8: a cruel realization

Zelda prayed.

And prayed.

Despite all of her praying, she was never sure if she was even doing it right.

Was there a specific way to do it? Was she doing it wrong? Did she even have the blood of Hylia coursing through her veins?

An icy jolt staggered up her body and she violently shivered in response, rippling the water around her. It was the first movement in hours among the emptiness that surrounded her thoughts. She shot her eyes open, exhaling sharply out of her nose, finally aware of how much her body was shaking. The reflection of the full moon in the water wavered in front of her, bright and distracting, reminding her that another day would soon rise—and how this one was wasted. She squeezed her eyes shut once more.

Anger gripped at the edges of her mind as it hung on to the last strings of her attempted, desperate praying. But the last couple of hours felt like she had simply been begging, not praying.

Begging for something, anything, a flash of light, a vision, just… anything.

And yet, despite it all, despite everything, there was no revelation.

Was there supposed to be one? She didn’t even know.

Link shuffled behind her, his sword scraping against the stone floor just enough to remind her that he was there. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she had momentarily forgotten she wasn’t alone. She shuddered again, though this time, an involuntary hiss escaped between her chattering teeth. She held on to the feeble hope that he didn’t hear it, but every movement she emitted never seemed to evade him. He shuffled again, drawing Zelda out of her ruminating thoughts even more. She convinced herself that he was planning to retire for the night—except, she heard a loud splash.

The sound completely withdrew her from the depths of her mind.

She swiveled back, pressing her hands against her chest, as she watched Link push through the water toward her.

“Link what are you—“ She flinched as his warm hand cupped her cheek—so warm that it stung her.

“You’re freezing, Princess.” A stern look passed across his features—a semblance to a frown, with eyebrows knitted up in concern. His typically guarded eyes softened just a little.

“I—“ Zelda hesitated, sighing as she dropped her shoulders. “No. I’m… I can almost hear the Goddess. I swear it.” She cursed herself for sounding so shaky, but regardless, she turned back around, moving away from his hand. She tangled her fingers together even tighter than before.

This was the first time he had ever tried to stop her, and it irked her. Itched under her skin, like… like he was giving up on her. And out of everyone—she didn’t want it to be him.

The thought of it pricked her eyes irritably.

“Please,” he whispered, delicately placing a hand on her pale shoulder. She shivered at his touch, curling into herself. He was always soft spoken, but not like this; pained and pleading.

“I’ll stay here even if the Goddess takes me,” she insisted sharply. The cruel words had slipped out without much thought, and only when she said it did she realize how grim it sounded.

But somewhere, deep within her, she knew those words rang true.

“T-That’s not what I meant,” Zelda stammered immediately after. She opened her mouth to explain, but she couldn’t find the energy to somehow mask the truth she had just spoken, so instead, her words were left hanging in the air between them like a ticking bomb.

“You should go get some rest,” she said instead, quietly over her shoulder. Once again, Zelda brought her hands together, closing her eyes. His hand slipped from her, and along with it, the warmth she craved. As the cold settled into her skin once more, she pressed her clasped hands to her lips.

It was hard to concentrate when she could still feel his presence directly behind her, and the heat from his body distracted her.

She waited for him to leave.

But he didn’t.

Zelda glanced back at him, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. His head was bowed down, with lips drawn tight. She couldn’t see his eyes. Fighting against the weight of the water that dragged down her dress, she turned around to face him. “Link, did you hear me?” she asked, bringing her hand to his face.

Suddenly, his hand reached up toward her extended arm and grasped it tightly. Zelda jumped at his sudden movements, alarmed. He glared up at her, and a chill ran down her spine as their eyes locked.

She had always thought that the coolness of his eyes never resembled who he actually was, but this time, they reflected the true color of how he seemed at that moment—icy blue.

Before she could react, he was already pulling her back toward dry land.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Zelda asked, baffled and dumbfounded.

His grip never loosened, even when she was completely out of the water, dripping wet. She stared at the back of his head as he simply stood there, his hand around her arm only tightening with each breath he took. It was unlike him to be as distant as he was—and even more so that he wasn’t responding to her. She used her free hand to touch his arm, barely brushing his skin, but that simple act seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. Upon contact, he immediately let go of her, as if her touch shocked him.

“I’ll…” he trailed off, his back still toward her. He shook the hand that had held her, as if he was trying to get rid of something. “I’ll go make a fire. Stay there.”

And then he was gone before she could respond, past the stone entry way that led to the forest outside of the Spring.

Zelda glanced back at the statue that gazed down upon her with its taunting smile. She debated whether or not to dip back into the freezing waters until she noticed the light red mark on her skin, where he had grabbed her.

The cool paleness of her skin only accentuated it, leaving her numb.

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

They didn’t speak when he came back, and he wouldn’t look at her, no matter how long she stared him down. He had given her his spare clothes, a simple long sleeve tunic and loose pants, so that she wouldn’t be dripping wet for the night. When she sat down across the campfire, he held out a blanket for her, still avoiding her piercing gaze.

“Thank you,” she said, eyeing him.

He turned around.

Zelda deflated a little, frowning. She wrapped it around her shoulders tightly, snuggling in its warmth for a moment before scooting closer to the fire. As her hands gripped at the fabric, she realized it was the same blanket from the time they were on their way to Zora’s Domain, by the pattern on it. She ran her fingers against the embroidery, finding comfort in its stitches. Link began tossing some branches into the fire, and as it grew larger, Zelda could finally feel her fingers and toes. She thought he’d stop after the fifth tree branch, but he kept tossing them in at a pace that, quite frankly, concerned her.

His blue eyes reflected the warm glow of growing fire—glinting, dimming.

“Link,” Zelda whispered behind the fabric of the blanket, but he didn’t respond. “Link.” She tried again, louder this time, pulling the covers down from her nose. His name on her tongue only resulted in a twitch of his mouth. He was resting his chin on one hand as he continued to lazily toss more branches into the fire with the other. “Can you please say something?” she asked gently.

His face was blank. He was always good at doing that when he really wanted no one to know what he was thinking.

“What do you want me to say?” he muttered back. There was an edge to his voice that she’d never heard before—was it… anger?

Did she make him mad? He never got mad. At anybody. He never did. No one, not even the Champions, the only other people he’s ever opened up to, had seen him get mad.

Sure, he got annoyed, but mad?

“I just—“ Zelda paused before the panic in her voice could come out. “I just want to know what you’re thinking,” Zelda said, keeping her voice steady. He stopped moving, and his blue eyes darted to her again. The only sound between them was the crackle of the fire, which he had overfed to the point where it was unnecessarily large and overbearing.

They stared at one another—and for the first time in a long time, he looked like a stranger.

Zelda realized how spoiled she had been all those times where he laughed or frowned at her now that she saw that blank look of his. She searched his face for something—anger, annoyance, rage—but there was nothing. She would’ve preferred anything.

Anything but that slack expression.

“You want to know what I think?” He ripped his gaze from hers, and for some reason, it felt like he had pulled away from her. Zelda tightened her grasp on the blanket, willing her hands to stop shaking. He returned his attention to the fire, poking at it. The edge in his voice was still there, and she hung on to it desperately, hoping that it would keep him from drawing further away than he already was. “You really want to know?”

“You know that I always do.”

When he didn’t continue, Zelda cast her gaze to the crackling fire, trying to find a reason for his aggravation. Their visits to the Springs were as they always were. The only difference was his odd quietness throughout the majority of this particular journey... but what she did today was what she had been doing on any other trip. So what had changed? Zelda scoured her memories for any bits and pieces of clues that she could fit together. The only thing she could really conclude was that he had become much more observant of her the past months. Or maybe she had simply imagined it, because she wanted to believe that he…

Zelda shook her head, letting the thought fall out before it could complete itself. Regardless, that knowledge didn’t help her in the situation at hand, because now it seemed like he couldn’t stand to even lock eyes with her for two seconds.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you. Is it because you have to accompany me? I know that these trips are taxing, and that it’s been taking—“ Zelda stopped speaking once she shifted her eyes to him.

That blank expression of his had vanished, and was replaced by frustration. The fire reflected in his eyes grew brighter the larger the flames got.

“Link, the fire...“ Zelda warned quietly, and his hand paused midway, about to throw another stick in.

“I want you to stop beating yourself up,” he started, his voice strained. His eyebrows scrunched together as he opened his mouth again, the words flowing out quicker and smoother now. Louder even. “I want to see you smile and laugh like you mean it. I don’t want to touch your skin and feel it colder than ice anymore. Every single time you come out of that water, I can see the light in your eyes fading away.” He dropped the stick into the fire and didn’t reach for anymore. There was a pause, and the air around them stilled, holding its breath.

“I’m tired of not being able to do anything,” he admitted quietly, exhaling. With it, the tension in the air released as well.

Zelda scooted closer to him. When she was able to get a better look at his face, she realized how weary he seemed, with those dark bags under his half lidded eyes. She opened up the blanket, inviting.

“I’m cold,” she said. He didn’t budge an inch. “You said you’re tired of not being able to do anything?” Zelda lifted an eyebrow. “You can keep me warm.”

His face flushed red and he turned away from her, staring down at his hands. “That’s not what I meant.”

Zelda pursed her lips, trying to find words of comfort, but her attempts were fruitless. The only thing she could provide him was something that he had been constantly giving her—honesty.

“Link, you know I need to do this.” She dropped her arm, sighing. “I can’t just… stop trying. I will bend and break if that’s what it takes to get this sacred power—it’s something I cannot avoid. Regardless of what becomes of me.”

He looked pained at her words, but they were true, and she wouldn’t hide it. She never did to begin with. She hesitated with her next words—words that she only kept floating in her own thoughts, but maybe voicing them to him would help him understand.

“But I’m glad that you and the other Champions are here with me,” she said, pausing. If she wasn’t going to voice this now, she wasn’t sure she would ever get the chance to. “It gives me strength. It helps me move forward. And you… you…” Zelda trailed off, fidgeting with a piece of fraying thread on the blanket. The fact that he existed in the world spread an unfathomable joy within her, and she felt fortunate to be alive at the same time as him. To simply be connected with such a soul as beautiful as his filled her with more strength than the sealing power would ever be able to give.

But that was too much—an honesty too raw—for her to admit. She couldn’t indulge in such… distracting truths. Not now.

At her hesitance, he looked up at her, with a mix of curiosity and longing.

Longing?

No, maybe it was she who looked upon him like that, but she couldn’t look away from him, even after the painful realization that hit her.

You love him, a little voice whispered to her. It almost sounded like a soft exhale, as if it was relieved to tell her.

“Thank you, Link. I will always be grateful for you, in all of our lifetimes. That will never change.” She offered him a slight smile—a smile to let him know that he was not alone. And she hoped it would be enough to ease his pain, even if it was only brief, for it was all she could give in that moment.

He stayed quiet, but she didn’t find discomfort in the silence this time as they both gazed at the warm fire.

As it began to die down, he tugged at her blanket, prompting her to come toward him. His blue eyes shimmered like the shallow waters of a clear sea as she drew closer, and she opened her arms once more, inviting. Months of pressure and tension peeled off of her when his skin met hers, as he laid his head in the crook of her neck. She placed her cheek against the top of his head, finding comfort in the sound of his soft breathing. Her eyes stayed focused on the flicker of the firelight.

She didn’t say anything when she felt warm water dribble onto her skin, dripping down her collarbone. Instead, she tightened the blanket wrapped around them, pulling him closer, and gently shut her eyes.

#zelink #botw #breath of the wild #link #zelda #botw fanfiction #zelink fanfiction #archived memories #my fanfics #enjoy the pining and angst!

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pixelfun20 · 4 years

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Flower Fields: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Notes: Again, all credit to @give-grian-rights (hope you don’t mind the tag!) for the concept! Thank you so much! Also almost forgot to post this on Tumblr rip.

No fighting wars, no ringing chimes

We're just feeling fine

Tubbo started out by building his starter base.

It was a concept he’d learned about while living with Xisuma, and it was quite a good one, too. After all, megabases worthy of Hermitcraft’s admittedly lofty standards often took months to build, and he’d need somewhere to live in the meantime. In Season 6, he’d neglected that fact, and had suffered his fair share of mob deaths before he put up four walls and a ceiling to protect himself, back when he’d left to live on his own. And that was with a small, quickly-thrown together base, not the project he was currently planning.

Still, even setting up the basics of his starter base took a few nearly sleepless days. Finally, the framework for the build, a treehouse spanning more than a few trees at the edge of the forest, was up, and Tubbo was finally able to place a bed down in safety and sleep for a solid fourteen hours straight.

Xisuma dropped by, quite literally, a day or so later.

Tubbo had been sitting in his quickly-expanding living room, sorting through the loot he’d gotten from yesterday’s day-long mining session when he swooped down through the half-finished roof. While he was still wearing his bee-themed armor, now there were two glider-like wings, shimmering purple, strapped to his back.

“Heya, X,” Tubbo greeted the admin with a wave, closing one of his chests. “You got elytra already?”

“Tango and I defeated the Ender Dragon yesterday,” Xisuma replied, touching down softly. Tubbo made an ‘ah’ sound, recalling the achievement he’d seen out of the corner of his eye the other day. Right; he’d forgotten about that. Trust X to be as efficient as possible and defeat one of the toughest monsters in the world just for the ease of travel.

“I’ll have to go endbusting soon, then,” he said, more to himself than X. Before the elder man could protest (ah, he was getting good at noticing when he was going to), he added: “Stress and xB have already asked me to go with them, so don’t worry , alright?”

“Good,” Xisuma sighed. “It’s never a good idea to go out on your own, especially since this’ll be your first time seriously exploring the End.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes good naturedly. To be fair, he hadn’t gone out to the End before it had been conquered before. He’d had a fair few trips last Season, mostly with X, but it was generally for the XP farm once it’d been set up. He’d never left the main island before. Now that he had considerably more freedom at the beginning of the Season, he was excited to go exploring.

“Anything bring you over?” He asked, changing the subject.

Xisuma nodded. “Yeah. A bunch of the others are getting together for some sort of wrestling tournament this weekend.”

“And I’ve been invited?!” He grinned, clapping his hands together.

“As the referee.”

“Ah,” he pouted. “Darn.”

“Don’t worry,” Xisuma chuckled, setting down a shulker box. “It can be a lot funner to watch sometimes; I’m just going to be part of the audience, too. I think Doc wanted you because he thinks he can bribe you.”

“He can not !”

Xisuma raised an eyebrow. “Area 77.”

“Oh, that’s not fair. I am completely unbiased!”

“And that was why you became their lawyer and not for all the cool experiments they had. I don’t think Cleo has forgiven you for defeating her in court.”

“No one can defeat Big Law,” Tubbo sniffed, faux-offended, and Xisuma laughed. “Well, I’ll show him!” He declared, crossing his arms. “I’ll just have to make sure he loses, then!” Xisuma blinked, and he laughed. “Kidding! Kidding!” Mostly .

“So you’re going?”

“Sure! It’s nice to see the Hermits all in one place, anyways. What’s in the shulker?”

Xisuma tilted his head teasingly. “What do you think? Someone had to get the supplies for our honey farm.”

Tubbo gaped. “You’re ready to build farms already?! Man, and I thought I was ahead of the game with just having my base halfway done.”

The armored man shrugged, looking about the partially completed build. “Well, you’ve certainly put more effort into this than me. Truly, your building skills are already improving. I love how you’re styling the roof with peaks like you are; it looks like it took a while.”

“My last house had a roof like that, too,” Tubbo reminded him, glancing up as well. It had become a tradition, of sorts, to build curved, peaked roofs onto his builds. Last season it had been one of the few things he’d built slowly to make look as good as possible. In all honesty, it was his own way of honoring the person who’d made it possible for him to come here, to have a life worth living once again. Rushing through the technique just felt disrespectful.

“Yes, but you’ve definitely gotten better.” Xisuma bent down over the shulker box, checking its contents. “Do you have any good ideas for where to make the bee farm? I’ll admit, I’ve been a bit too busy to scout out a good area.”

“Really? Then where’d you get these guys?”

“Tree farming in the desert.”

Tubbo snorted into his hand, and he could practically feel Xisuma’s embarrassment. “Well, you did say you hadn’t scouted out a good spot.”

“Indeed I did.”

“I can take a look around here and see what I can find. Meadows are supposed to be excellent places for farming bees, right?”

“Indeed it is,” Xisuma agreed. “Do you have plans for your megabase, yet?”

Tubbo nodded, grinning. “And trust me, it’s going to be awesome .”

............

Two days later, a chicken appeared in his base. Tubbo found it laying an egg in what was starting to become the base’s storage area, with one of his shirts nearly ripped to shreds in what appeared to be a makeshift nest.

There was a nametag wrapped around its leg. After some chicken wrangling and a few feathers to the face, he got a good look at it and realized there wasn’t a name written there, but a set of coordinates.

A set of coordinates rather far away, but who was he to turn down such an intriguing mystery?

With the chicken now renamed Wilbur and placed in a pen (he’d needed a chicken farm anyways), Tubbo set out that morning with a few supplies to find the spot he was looking for. After crossing a fair bit of forest and ocean, by the next day he’d found himself cutting his way through the underbrush of an overgrown jungle and wondering why in the world Stress had wanted to wait a week before going to get their elytra.

He pushed a few low-hanging vines out of the way, checking his communicator for the upteenth time. He was getting closer, now. This better be worth going out a few hundred chunks in the middle of nowhere—hey, wait a minute!

There was smoke in the distance. He could just make it out through the leaves, and now that he concentrated, he could smell it, too. Tubbo rushed forwards, pushing through the brush to see several man-made wooden pillars sticking out. As he pressed forwards, he made out a semi-stone floor, several chests, and a small fire in the middle, explaining the smoke.

“What is this?” He asked himself, looking around the place. The coordinates were right, and yet no one was here. Just this outpost in the middle of the jungle.

Tubbo walked around. There were some papers pinned to the wall, and a few dispensers lying around. Idly he pressed the buttons on them, already starting to form a plan to enact revenge on whoever made him travel over a day to get this place.

He pressed the button on the dispenser in the middle of the build and nearly got an arrow to the face.

Tubbo yelped, his reflexes, honed from a half year of training, the only thing saving him from a sudden death. A bell rang behind him, but it took him a few more moments to calm his racing heart.

“Not funny! You nearly took my head off!” He shouted to the jungle. Still, he didn’t leave, instead turning to the bell the arrow had his, examining it. Huh.

There were some cookies in one of the chests, probably left behind by whoever had actually built the place. He nibbled on it, only half hungry, as he tried to examine the place better.

“HERMIT CHALLENGES!”

Tubbo shrieked , dropping the remains of his cookie as the voice rang through the forest air. He looked around, trying to find the source, but found that he couldn’t.

“INITIATION!”

A diamond-clad figure dropped out of the vines above, landing with a firm thud on one of the ground dispensers. He nearly lost his balance before righting himself with a huff.

“Mumbo!” Tubbo exclaimed, a little annoyed but mostly impressed.

“INITIATION!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “HERMIT CHALLENGES! YOU ARE BEING INDUCTED.”

“How long have you been up there?! It took me over a day to get here.”

“No matter, Mr. Tubbo! Congratulations! You’re in!”

“...Thanks?”

“Of course, my friend! You have been inducted into Hermit Challenges! Of course, you could have eaten the entire cookie—” he glanced down at the crumbs at Tubbo’s feet. “But besides that you have acted perfectly.”

“Wait, what is Hermit Challenges?” Tubbo asked, blinking. What? This version of Mumbo was almost nothing like the Mumbo he’d seen at Spawn a mere week and a half ago. Who used chickens to deliver messages? Or perch in a tree for supposed hours on end?

Okay, he had to admit, that last one was pretty funny.

“Oh, it’s a game I’ve made up,” Mumbo continued. “Iskall and I have already had a go at it, and I figured I’d invite you next.”

“...Alright, then. How do I play?”

“It’s simple! Write down three challenges and put them in the dispenser. Then we’ll pick one at random from each other.”

Mumbo reached into one of the chests on the ground, taking out a sheath of paper and passing three to him with a pen. Tubbo looked at him, and Mumbo grinned.

“Go on! I’m sure you’ll have something fun in that head of yours.”

Ah, he was right. Tubbo gave in with a smile, leaning back and thinking briefly about what he wanted to challenge Mumbo. A few ideas came to mind, and he quickly scribbled them down, pushing them into one of the two dispensers on the side of the small build, Mumbo doing the same.

“Alright, then!” Mumbo announced with a smile. “You go first.”

Tubbo stepped towards Mumbo’s dispenser and clicked the button, causing a slip of paper to slide out. He unrolled it, then read it out loud.

“‘Steal everyone’s front doors for the rest of the season.’ What? The whole season?!”

Mumbo laughed. “Oh, that one! Man, you got the hardest one from me!”

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what you’ll get from me.”

“We’ll see,” Mumbo said with a chuckle. He moved across the platform, and pressed the button the dispenser Tubbo had put his challenges in. The dispenser whirred, and then another slip of paper popped out. Mambo picked it up and read off of it, face contorting as he did so. “...‘Act like you don’t believe in the moon for the next two weeks, and claim the sky is a hologram put up by the SCA (Secret Chickens Agency) to keep us from seeing the real overlords- the sky chickens.’ What?”

Tubbo snickered at that, covering his mouth with one hand. Oh, he was proud of that one.

“No, seriously, this is awfully specific.”

“What? It’s funny!”

“Funny for you!” But Mumbo was smiling, and Tubbo grinned back at him.

“I’m going to be having a fun few weeks,” he giggled.

“So am I,” Mumbo agreed with a raised eyebrow, tucking the slip of paper away. He clapped Tubbo’s shoulder. “I suppose I’ll have to make up a good story to go with this prompt.”

“And I have some doors to steal!” Tubbo laughed.

“Whoever gets the first complaint in chat wins?”

“You’re on!”

#tubbo #tubbolive #hermitcraft #mcyt #xisumavoid #mumbo jumbo #hermit challenges #fluff #Hermit!Tubbo AU #watcher!tubbo #it took me like a month but hey I updated

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monsieur-hadrien · 4 years

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Quarantine Harry Potter Fanfiction *READING LIST*

I’ve spent the past months reading copious amounts of fanfiction and now my amount of AO3 bookmarks is absurd. I really need to share these because if I don’t I think I might implode. Drarry-centric but not all!

These are in no particular order nor is there a particular time frame that these were all posted. I have a little bit of everything in here just you wait.

On Punching Gods and Absentee Dads by Enigmaris

56 Chapters, 247k Words, Complete, no slash, T Rating

Marvel, Norse Mythology, Harry Potter Crossover

TW: Past Abandonment

Harry finds out that his dad is alive, has been the whole time. Instead of being overjoyed, Harry's disgusted. His dad left earth and abandoned his friends. Every painful thing he's ever gone through can be traced back to one man. Now Harry's got super strength he can't control and an almost unnecessary amount of magical power. His dad might be living it up with the Avengers now but not for long. With the help of his friends, Harry comes up with a plan for revenge. Get ready Avengers, Harry's out to punch a god.

We’re starting off strong with a Marvel crossover fanfic wow. Who knew that crossovers could be done tastefully as 2013 Wattpad kind of ruined it for us. However, this fic changed my mind! This fic is funny as fuck and is just a goodass time. I love a good multi-chapter fic (as you’ll soon see) and this one is a showstopper.

The Man Who Lived by sebastianL

42 Chapters, 254k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: Major Character Death, Graphic Deptictions of Violence

Draco breaks a cup, and one thing leads to another. A story of redemption, tattoos, dreams, mistakes, green eyes, long conversations, and copious amounts of coffee.

With all of the Black Lives Matter protests happening right now, I think that this fic is super relevant. Draco has moved to New York City and is working as a receptionist at a tattoo shop and a mentor for inner city kids, but he accidentally gets forced to work out his differences with Harry, who at this point hates his guts. This fic is pretty serious, tackling themes of mental health, suicide, and police brutality. Every OC in this story is completely lovable and I cried my eyes out many times. When people ask me for a fic reccomendation this is the one I give people. Dare I say that this is my all-time favorite fic.

Warm Bodies by Betty_Hazel

Work in Progress, 37 Chapters as of 6/12/2020, 108k Words, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: D/s Dynamics, Graphic Porn, Dubious Relationship with Food

Draco Malfoy has spent his whole life wanting to go down on his knees for other men, and that's by far the least of the depraved things he fantasises about. He's wanted it all for so long that he's stopped believing that there might be someone out there who might be able to give it all to him; it comes as something of a surprise to find that maybe Harry Potter can, and that maybe Harry's looking for something too.

ALRIGHT MY PORN LOVERS THIS ONE IS FOR YOU! Don’t lie I know you’re horny. Somehow this fic is so fucking gorgeous and sweet yet so sinfully hot. It’s literally two boys who have never felt like their emotional needs have been satisfied learning to help and love each other like how much more wholesome does it get. I mean it’s all fine and wholesome until you get to the kinky sex which is WONDERFULLY WRITTEN MIGHT I ADD! I always say that if porn can make you feel something other than just horny, you’ve found a winner, and this story does just that.

Definitely check all the tags and I mean all the tags before you read this, but this is definitely one of my favorite porn with plot stories.

Running On Air by eleventy7

17 Chapters, 75k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, T Rating

TW: No Archive Warnings

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Might I just say that classics are considered classics for a reason. This is one of those stories that has the vibe of high school summer after senior year where all you do is try to escape reality and figure out your place in the world. While the plot is wonderful and the characters are great, I think what shines the brightest from this story is the writing style. It’s so enchanting and poetic with the best one-liners that make your heart hurt. On my AO3 bookmark i captioned it, “This just ripped my soul in half and restitched it together again,” and I still stand by that.

Lokison (Series) and How To Train Your Godling (Series) by sifsshadowheart

Main Story (Lokison): 33 Chapters, 244k Words, Completed, Harry/Various Characters, E Rating

14 Spinoffs/ Sequel Stories, Completed, Harry/Various, Various Ratings

Norse Mythology, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, Various Fandoms Crossover

TW: Major Character Death, Graphic Violence, Underage Sex, Spiralling Mental Health

James and Lily Potter had a secret, one which led to Thanatos saving young Harry from a dreary life with the Dursleys and changed the face of the Second British Wizarding War before it ever began.

This story feels much more like a 12 season television show than a two hour movie if you know what I mean. The plot is pretty slow going but the character development and interation makes it worth it. The story blends the lore and events of the HP and PJO to make a completely new story without making it feel like a goddamn recap. The reader follows Harry from when he’s young all the way into adulthood and it’s a fun time to watch him grow as a character and bond with his parental figures. Also some of the spinoffs are really wild and I never would have thought of the pairings but they just work somehow?? My personal favorite spinoff is the Pirates of Caribbean/Calypso and Leo arc like HELLO?! hot pirates. The total word count of the two series is 465k so beware it takes a hot second to chug through this one.

This Worship of an Extinct Fire by Lomonaaeren

Oneshot, 30k Words, Draco/Harry, M Rating

TW: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Deppression

Unspeakable Draco Malfoy has planned for nearly six months how to take down Thomas Linwood, a man who has discovered the secret of converting wizard bodies to pure magic. He was prepared for anything--except the discovery of the missing Harry Potter in Linwood's compound.

This one, I don’t know how it’s not considered a classic. I’ve seen it floating around on drarry tumblr and wow is it good. I especially like the detailed magic system and mechanics that Draco is investigating. How the author managed to have so much detailed and gracefully planned out backstory in 30k words is beyond me. Also gentle Dracoo Malfoy is my favorite Draco Malfoy :) absolute angel mode.

Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho) by LLAP15 and Writcraft

Oneshot, 66k Words, Draco/Harry, Past Sirius/James, E Rating

TW: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light D/s Dynamics, References to Cancer, References to HIV/AIDS

Draco is lonely, Harry hates the press and it won’t stop raining in London. Harry discovers a magical street that’s close to disappearing forever and Draco realises he’s one rainy night in Soho away from finding everything he’s been searching for.

This fic is, in every sense, a masterpiece. Especially for pride month, the story surrounding LGBTQIA+ activism, the AIDS Epidemic of the 80s, and the gentrification of historically queer communities is one that should be read by everyone. Every single place, OC, and historic event has real world ties and is historically accurate, making this fic even more enchanting. Everything about this fic is graceful and slow burning I can’t help but fall in love with it. I’ve only seen this fic once on HP tumblr, but I feel like it should be considered a classic as it is truly a moving piece. This fic is one of the biggest reasons why I became so enthralled with LGBT history and am writing a fic that takes place in a wizarding version of the AIDS epidemic.

Sensitive Touch by Raserwolf

45 Chapters, 194k Words, Complete, Draco/Harry, E Rating

TW: Racism and Racial Slurs, Homophobic Slurs, Ablism and Ablist Slurs, Rape and Sexual Assault, Sensory Overloads and Mental Breakdowns, Extreme Bullying and Hate Crime, Past Abuse, Anxiety Disorders, PTSD wow this is a long list

When Draco Malfoy encounters a struggling and frustrated Harry desperately trying to tie his shoes after a meltdown in the Great Hall, his curiosity regarding the incident leads him to seek the help of the two people closest to Harry: Ron and Hermione.

After even they are shocked to hear the extent of Harry's issues, though Hermione had her suspicions, he discovers more about the man than he ever thought he knew before.

As a Neurotypical, I found this fic to be absolutely wonderful. I don’t know much about the typical traits of those who are one the autism spectrum and how they affect their everyday lives, but from what I was reading in the comments from those who are on the spectrum or who have family who are, this fic was pretty accurate and realistic. Harry, who lives with aspergers, goes without a known diagnosis until 8th year and it’s just heightened by his PTSD and anxiety and ugh I just want to hug the boy. The story follows Harry and Draco and the rest of the 8th year gang through the year and has multiple arcs in which the wizarding world are just dumbass bitches who can’t fucking seem to accept people for who they are. Not only is Harry on the spectrum but he’s also Desi with a purpose and not just mentioned and forgotten which is wonderful. The boys go through a lot of trauma in the story but there’s also a lot of teeth-rotting fluff that I live for. This is one of the fics that I have read and reread because I love it so much.

This definitely is not my full list I have a ton more stories in my bookmarks if you are curious. I’ll probably post a part two to this just cause I have so much and read so often. These, however, are definitely the biggest highlights.

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so-langdon · 5 years

Text

Crave - Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Michael has a nightmare about losing Y/N and she comforts him.

Summary: Story-line change, angst, some swearing, emotional! clingy! needy! Michael, fluff

A/N: I needed some hella needy/clingy Michael so soz for this, it’s probably overkill rip. Also, I wanted the first half of this writing to be italicized to represent it’s a dream, but tumblr is being so weird and is only italicizing some parts on mobile no matter what I do??? So, sorry about that!

Also sorry for the lack of posting/writings. I started a new job and it’s been so crazy busy! 😩

Tagged!: @hecohansen31 , @sarahandthejets , @michaelsapostle , @rocketgirl2410 , @saltyshaggymeme , @1-800-bitchcraft

“What do you mean you’re leaving,” Michael asks sorrowfully, feeling a stinging in his eyes as he follows Y/N into the kitchen. His vision begins to get blurry, blinking the sudden tears away as they fall down his face and he wipes them quickly off before they can be seen. A heaviness grows in his chest, a pang forming and causing Michael’s breathing to become more shallow.

“I mean, I’m leaving. Leaving here,” Y/N says carelessly, looking down at her phone, texting back a friend who’s on their way to pick Y/N up. A couple of suitcases were rested on the floor by the door while she was waiting for her ride to show up. “Where are you going?” Michael asks, taking a deep breath to keep himself as cool, calm and collected as he can. “To Madison’s. I’m going to stay with her,” Y/N says, putting her phone away and looking up at Michael, ignoring the pained expression on his face. “Can I come with you?” Michael asks hopeful. He didn’t want to accept the fact that Y/N was leaving for any other reason except maybe Madison wanting a friend to stay with her for a bit, Y/N just going for a sleepover or something else, anything else besides the harsh truth. “No,” Y/N states simply, cold and impassive. Michael swallows, blinking as his eyes blur with tears again again. “Well. When will you be back?” Y/N stares at him. She sighs, almost annoyed and shakes her head. “I’m not.” Michael bites his lip. “Like, this week, or--” “I’m not coming back ever,” Y/N states. “I’m tired of it here,” Y/N explains. “B-- But. If you don’t like how things are set up here we can change it then,” Michael gestures. “We can fix this place up to how you want if you don’t like how things are,” he offers, trying to convince Y/N to stay here with him. “I don’t mean I’m tired of it here as in this house,” she gazes around. “I mean I’m tired of being here with you, Michael,” Y/N states coldly. Michael takes a step back, body lightly trembling. He knew that was the route things were heading considering Y/N’s behavior. But he was still trying to deny it until actually hearing her say the words. And now that she had, it felt like everything inside of him was collapsing. “What do you mean?” “I don’t want you anymore,” she shrugs. “I don’t want to be with you, I don’t love you,” Y/N says.

Michael blinks, shaking his head lightly, trying to process what she’s just said. He was trying not to believe that Y/N was leaving because of him. He wanted it so badly to be because of just visiting a friend or something more innocent, that she would be coming back at some point. Not leaving for good and because she didn’t want him.

He had been through this too many times. With either being given up on, unwanted, or used and forgotten. He thought he had finally found someone who would never make him feel alone, that he had someone to love and to be loved in return. But now, it was happening all again -- being given up on, rejected -- abandoned.

“You can’t do this,” Michael pleads. “It’s already done, Michael,” she states. “Madison should be here any minute.” “No,” Michael says. “You can’t be doing this.” “I’m sorry,” she says apologetically. He shakes his head. “It’s for the best. We both deserve what’s best and what makes us happy.” “You’re the best there is,” Michael enunciates. “You make me happy.” Y/N hesitates, “I’m sorry.” “This honestly -- This has to be a joke,” Michael shakes his head again, pushing a hand through his tussled blond curls. “This isn’t real.” “This will be a difficult transition for us, but we’ll get over it.” “Get over it?” He narrows his eyes. “What, just like that?” Michael looks at her in disbelief. Y/N stays quiet, looking at him impassively. “You make it sound like what we have together is so easy to throw away,” his voice trails off. “Because it is. There is nothing between us,” Y/N states. “Don’t say that,” Michael begs, wincing from her hurtful words. “It’s true. At least for me,” she shrugs. “No. Don’t say that,” Michael repeats, voice strained. “Look,” Y/N starts, sighing, “We had a good run together, but we–” “’A good run’? A good fucking run? That’s what you’re going to call it?” He says, the hurt in his tone being prominent. Y/N stays quiet again. “We’ve been through so much together, you helped me, and – and – we love each other and now you’re done? You’re giving up? Just like that?” He furrows his pained blue eyes. “I can’t help the way I feel,” she shrugs again. “I don’t want you. I don’t love you anymore, and there’s no point in trying to force feelings when there’s nothing there,” she says.

Michael was suddenly on the verge of a breakdown. The emotions running through his mind, through his heart, it was seeming unbearable. His world was falling apart, breaking into tiny pieces before his eyes. His world was leaving him. “But we’re so good together,” he breathes, trying to control his heavy breathing.

“…Not anymore.”

Michael swallows, having to use every fiber of his being not to blow up into a crying, screaming mess. He felt as if he could feel his heart being ripped into smaller and smaller pieces until nothing was left. He felt like the room was closing in on him, making it harder for him to breathe. He felt as if the air he was breathing around him was escaping from him. But who could blame him? The love of his life was walking out on him.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you,” she says, less than apologetic. Y/N picks up her belongings, opening the front door and taking a step towards it. Michael grabs her wrist, refusing to believe this. “Wait.” “Michael, let go of me,” she looks back at him. “Please don’t go,” he says, his voice sounding straining and becoming shakier from how upset he was getting. “Don’t leave me. Please.” “You need to let go of me,” Y/N says monotone. “Don’t do this to us. We can work through this,” he pleads, voice straining more than earlier. “Let go of me, Michael.” “We can talk about this,” Michael tries, not wanting to give up, “I’ll do anything, we can–” “There’s nothing for us to talk about anymore. Now let go of me.” “No, Y/N, I – I can’t. I can’t…” Y/N tries pulling her hand from Michael’s but he doesn’t let it happen. She tries again, but if anything he just holds tighter, holding onto her and pulling her closer, back into the room and hoping she’ll change her mind. “Let go of me,” she says a bit louder. “Please, Y/N, please don’t do this,” he begs. “Let go of me.” “Don’t do this to us,” he begs. “Michael, let go of me right now. I’m leaving, and you need to deal with it.” “No, no I can’t, I can’t. I love you so much,” he says, voice trembling, his sorrowful blue eyes watering, “please don’t leave m–” “Let go of me!” She calls, pulling her hand away from him harder. “Let go of me right now!” She yells, pulling harshly away from him.

Once out of his hold, she grips her suitcase tightly, and she fades away as she walks out the door. The door slams shuts in front of Michael, him shaking his head as he tries to process what just happened to him.

He was finding it more difficult to breathe as the seconds ticked on; his breathing getting more and more heavy. He wasn’t going to accept this. She always promised she would never leave him like how everyone else in his life had. There was no way this was happening. He loved Y/N with all of his heart, did everything he could to make her happy, and yet, it wasn’t enough and she left him. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

Michael leans forward, resting his head against the door. He slams his fist against it, shaking his head on it. A string of quiet and desperate “No’s” leaving his mouth, his eyes welling up in constant tears. He didn’t give a care in the world about his behavior in these moments. He couldn’t believe what happened, he couldn’t believe he had lost his world. The best thing to ever happen to him just walked out of his life for good and the space around him was crashing down like a ton of bricks.

Michael let out a few low cries, leaning his head down more against the wall. He steps back, shaking his head and ruffling his hair. He pushes his hands through his hair harshly, making his already ruffled hair more messy and tussled. He brings his hands to his face, shaking his head in them.

“No, no, no,” he whined, feeling the water flow into his hands. “No!” He yelled, dropping his hands. He breathed out heavily, having to take a deep breath, but only to keep taking deep breaths as it felt like he had no air to breathe anymore. “This isn’t happening,” he yelled to himself, covering his face again. “No! Y/N, I need you!” He yells as if she was in front of him to hear, hoping somehow she would hear his cries and change her mind.

He turns around, leaning back. He slides down the wall, sitting on the ground, feeling all of it ten times more, every second hurting a hundred times more than the one before, feeling utterly and completely alone and abandoned, all over again like he had his whole life until he met her.

When his eyes snap open, he’s breathing harder than he would be normally. His body is in a trembling state, his heart seeming to be pounding against his chest. He instantly turns onto his side, facing Y/N, reaching over for her.

He was never shy to cuddle into her. She seemed shy sometimes to cuddle into him during the night in the fear of disturbing him from a nightmare or something. But he never minded or got upset if she did. He rather her wake him up in those kinds of moments. He never minded being closer to her, or taking care of her. And when it came to him cuddling up to her, or waking her up over something, he never hesitated, knowing she never minded either.

But as he reaches over for her, he feels nothing but the cool sheets of the mattress and blankets. His eyes widen in alert, his pulse quickening, his heart beginning to pound ten times harder than it was when first waking up.

He feels around in the bed more so, doing a double take to make sure Y/N really isn’t laying down beside him. The fear, the panic, the heartbreak begins to set in for him and he’s already on the verge of an actual breakdown.

He tosses the blankets off of him immediately, jumping out of bed. “Y/N,” he calls, turning his nightstand lamp on. He calls her name again, racing for the door, turning on the hallway light and rushing down the hall. “Y/N,” he calls once more just as she turns the corner a few feet away from him.

“Michael, what’s wron–” she starts, voice soft and concerned. But she stops as Michael rushes for her, grabbing her and pulling her into his arms. He pulls her tightly into his body, his arms wrapping securely around her in the fear that if he let’s go, she’ll leave and disappear.

Michael breathes with relief when she wraps her arms around him, holding onto him just as tightly.

“Are you okay,” she asks. “You’re breathing so heavy and gosh, your heart is beating so hard against me. Are you alright?” She asks again, more concerned, arms holding around him protectively.

“You left me,” Michael gasps, breathing a deep breath in as his chest hyperventilates.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, “I was just getting some water,” she pouts a bit.

“No, no. You left me,” he says, voice strained, on the brink of tears. “You didn’t love me anymore. You didn’t want me and you packed up and left. You were done with us and you were done with me. You didn’t love me, you didn’t want me, you left. You were gone, you were never going to come back,” he panics, his hold tightening on her, and maybe a little too tight. But she wasn’t going to say anything.

“Michael,” she pouts more sadly, voice gentle. “No. I’m here. I’m here with you. That was just a bad dream,” she says, realizing he’s woken up from a nightmare. “It wasn’t real,” she brings a hand to the back of his head, pushing her fingers through his cute curls in the hopes to soothe him. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you.”

He exhales deeply, her words flooding through him, bringing him relief of his fear and panic, but his hold not loosening up.

“You mean everything to me. I would never walk out on you,” Y/N adds.

“…It was so hard to believe in the dream. You were – it was like you had no emotion of what was happening. You just wanted out and you were almost too cruel about it. Just wanting to leave, wanting to get away from me for good. You wouldn’t even talk it out, I couldn’t do anything,” his eyes widen a bit as he replays the dream in his head, his anxiousness returning.

“Dream version of ‘me’ sounds like a bitch,” Y/N says quietly, trying to defuse the situation with some humor. But feeling the way Michael still shakes, feeling the way his heart still pounds against her, breaks her heart, making her frown. “I’d never do that to you, Michael,” she continues to push her fingers through his hair, and she leans her head into the crook of his neck, pressing her lips against his skin. “I don’t have enough words to describe to you how much I love you, and how I would never abandon you. It was just a dream,” she says kindly.

He swallows, his hold still not letting up. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. But the image of her leaving him replays over and over in his head. His body calms a bit but still trembles in her arms, his heart rate refusing to slow.

“Baby, relax,” she coos, voice gentle and soft. “I’m not going anywhere,” she tells him. His hold around her is already tight, with her arms around him being tight too. But with his behavior, she tightens her hold on him, bringing him impossibly closer to her, there being virtually no space between the two of them at all.

“Y/N, please don’t leave me,” he whispers, voice shaky. “I love you, I love you more than anything in this world,” he begins to panic again. “Don’t go, please don’t ever go away, I’ll do anything for you. I know I was a monster, b-but I’m better now, you’ve helped me, and I’ll do whatever to make you happy, just please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me,” he whispers, pleading and voice full of worry and panic. “I love you, I love you so much.”

“Michael,” she begins as she let’s go of her hold a bit. Doing this panics Michael more and he keeps his hold around her even tighter, refusing to let her leave like in his dream. She tries again, but it doesn’t work. Michael just doesn’t loosen up on his hold. It wasn’t like she was going to let go of him completely, she just wanted to look at him. But she decides on staying put. She wraps her arms around him again, burying her face back into his neck for a moment again.

“Don’t go, please don’t go,” Michael whispers again, him leaning his lower face against her shoulder, his lips pressing to her skin. “Don’t leave me,” he whispers against her.

“Listen to me, Michael. Look at me,” she starts gently.

Michael pauses, but does as she says, letting go of her just a bit to look down at her face. But he keeps his arms around her still.

She pulls her arms away from his body, only bringing them up in between them. She uses her thumbs to wipe under his eyes which are a bit wet from tears. She smiles a bit, her eyes scanning over his face carefully. She leans closer to him, pressing her lips to his, lightly at first. A simple, sweet kind of kiss. She pulls back, giving little space between them. She leans back in, kissing him again, still being just as sweet, but a bit more than the first, assuring him of her love for him.

When she pulls away, she reaches up, grabbing his face in her hands. “I’m sorry you had that kind of dream. I know how awful they can be. But that’s all they are. Just dreams,” she says comfortingly, her thumb brushing under his eyes again. “There would never be a reason for me to leave you. You’re the only one for me,” she smiles a bit. “And you’re not a monster. You never were. You needed some guidance and love, and you got it and now look at how far you’ve come.” She drops her hands, moving to grab Michael’s arms around her.

He figures she’s going to grab him to let go of her. But he’s glad she only makes him tighten his hold, her pressing against his body as she wraps her arms around his torso again. “Never worry about me leaving or abandoning you. It won’t happen. I’m yours.” She leans in a bit, “And you’re mine too,” she smiles. “So I’m never letting you go either. I love you.”

Michael presses his pouty, plump lips together, closing his eyes and leaning forward to rest his forehead against her shoulder as a rush of relief flows through him. “Even though it was just a dream, the way I felt.. It was horrible, unbearable, I – I don’t, I don’t want to even imagine it happening for real,” he shakes his head against her.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere,” she says. She brushes her fingers against his back gently. “Let’s get back to bed, okay,” she says. “Let me take care of you.”

Michael takes a quiet deep breath, but lifts his head, looking at her. He nods, mumbling, “Okay.” He hesitates but he let’s go of her as her arms fall from him.

She grabs his hand, her other hand grabbing theirs together as she walks off down the hallway. She leads Michael to the bed in their room, letting him crawl in as she turns the nightstand lamp off. He sits down, laying his body down and getting comfortable. She brings the covers up on him, tucking him in. She places her hand at his head, pushing some of the blond curls out of his face and leaning down, kissing him.

When she stands back up, Michael quickly grabs onto her hand before she walks off, telling her to stay with him.

“I’m just going to turn the hallway lights off, I promise,” she assures. “I’ll be right back.”

Michael hesitates a second but let’s go of her hand, giving her a nod, trying to calm himself down and taking another deep breath.

After Y/N turns the lights off, she kneels onto the bed, crawling over and standing on her hands and knees over Michael. She sits down on his lower waist, straddling his body. She leans over with a smile on her face, kissing him, first simply like earlier, but quickly transitioning to a deep and fuller kiss.

She pulls back barely, Michael feeling the smile on her lips. She presses her lips back to his, pulling back once more and kissing him again, and slower. Slow to where as she leans in each time, it causes a type of craving, a yearning in Michael as he impatiently waits for her lips to touch his again and again, not wanting her to ever stop.

She sits up after, moving her hands to rest on Michael’s collarbones. “I love you,” she states to him, wanting to make sure he’s reassured.

Michael’s hands move, grabbing onto her waist. He holds onto her, sliding his hands down slowly, feeling the curves of her body, a solace flowing through him. His hands slide down to her lower hips, gripping her in a secure fashion.

Y/N leans down, pressing her chest against his. She rests an arm beside Michael’s head, her fingers playing with his hair. Her other hand comes to his face, her fingertips tracing over his skin gently. “You’re okay,” she says in a reassuring tone.

He nods, feeling better than he had before when first waking up from that nightmare.

Y/N’s fingertips continue to trace over his skin softly, her eyes staying on him as they’ve adjusted to the darkness around them. His eyes don’t leave her face either, his focus being solely on her, as it always is it seems. Never wanting to miss a glimpse of her beauty, of her contact, of her anything.

Michael smiles, leaning up and pressing his lips to hers. He uses his hands to help push him to sit up, then leaning over Y/N and turning her to switch their positions, causing her to lay against the bed as he rests against her body.

He kisses her again once adjusting his body between her legs. Y/N’s hand on his cheek stays in place as their lips move sweetly and deeply together. He keeps his lips to hers, yearning for her, never getting enough of her, Michael knowing he will always crave and need her.

Thanks for reading!! Any and all feedback is very appreciated <3

#Michael Langdon #AHS #American Horror Story #Michael Langdon imagine #Michael Langdon writing #Michael Langdon story #Michael Langdon fanfic #Michael Langdon fan fic #Michael Langdon oneshot #Michael Langdon one shot #Michael Langdon x reader #Michael Langdon x fem reader #Michael Langdon x fem! reader #Langdon #Duncan Shepherd #Duncan Shepherd imagine #Duncan Shepherd house of cards #House of cards Duncan Shepherd #american horror story apocalypse

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thefairygodmotheryoudeserve · 5 years

Text

Thank You, Dear Last Night’s Mental Breakdown.

| Barista!Han Jisung Au |

💌 Requested? Yes -- @jone-00

🌸 Genre: Fluff, a hint of a hint of Angst. As much angst as a Strawberry flavored La Croix has Strawberry.

✏️ Word Count: 2,600

!GIFS ARE NOT MINE!

T/W: Mentions of a mental breakdown, doesn’t go into detail.

A/N: Get ready, you bean. We about to enter some emotional and fluffy territory. Bring yo shades-- to look cool AND to make sure people can’t see you crying.

Also I’m sorry if this secretly sucks and I have no idea. Leave your thoughts so I can improve and know what’s good and what isn’t! I read all feedback and they all are important to me! <3

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You breathe out, the light sunshine kissing your lashes as your eyes flutter open. The buzz of your alarm fills the air.

Your eyes glide softly to the dress you hung up on your bedroom doorknob. The early sunrise sets the warm shadows of your room across the lightly pleated skirt. The fabric’s rosy pastel-pink hues are cast onto the white paint of your door.

You breath in, and out again. Let’s begin.

You had a mental breakdown the night before. They aren’t an irregular thing for you, but you wish badly they are. After crying, trembling, and crumbling slowly for hours, you stopped suddenly. You clenched your fists and stared, determined, into your very own eyes through that mirror.

I’m not going to let you fall apart like this anymore. I can’t-- I won’t.

So you stood up, breathing shakily. Scared, you started making preparations for what you were determined to be a better tomorrow.

What can I do that would make my younger self proud? You jot down ideas that would suddenly come to you as you set clothes out, put trash in a bin, and tried your best to write reminders.

“Making your younger self proud” has always been a way to measure how happy you are with where you’re at in life. You saw it in a newspaper, or maybe your mother heard it-- it might have even been a popular Tumblr text post, who knows! You just know it’s been your compass to point you in the right direction for about three years now.

You have an emotional attachment to the things you went through as a child, and if you could go back in time and just hold her, and tell her everything would be okay, you would. Doing things that would make younger-you smile is your way of doing that.

I’ll go to the cafe in a pretty dress that makes me feel happy, you wrote carefully. You remembered as a child dreaming about romantic cafes and old books. You sighed, releasing pent up air, feeling your muscles relax, little by little. If I did that, I think that would make my younger self proud...

By the time you made it to your bed that night, it was only 9:12pm. You fell down in your bed and closed your eyes, feeling your space. Your favorite-but-forgotten dress that now hung there on your door; the sneakers you once bought yourself and have finally decided to wear; the alarm clock that, for the first time in three years, was set for 6:00am; and a notebook full of ideas to return to the person you never were but always wanted to be, that sits on your bedside table.

You fell asleep, muscles relaxing. You, melting into your bed, almost becoming one with it.

* * *

Fast forward to where we started-- you are sitting upright in bed and staring at your dress. It seems to stare right back at you. Can you really do this, Y/N?

“Can I do this?”

Yes. I will.

You swing your legs over your bed, and you feel the fear begin to fall away like an old skin being shed from a new body. Suddenly, you feel light and happy, slipping on the bright-white wedge sneakers. The dress glides down your body, the fabric sending shivers up your spine as it falls into place.

As you pull the zipper up the side of your torso. you think about what you’re going to order when you get to the cafe. I haven’t been there since my mother came to the university to drop me off. I miss her... what did she order that day? I hope I can remember once I get there.

* * *

The jingle of tiny bells above the door tickles your ears as you swing the glass door open. The cafe is mostly empty, other than a mother and her child quietly sitting in a booth by the window. Succulents and aged books lined hanging shelves on either side of the room. The hanging lights gave the cafe a soft industrial feel, and the glass pastry displays made the room that much sweeter. Mom had chosen this cafe because she said it felt like a secret place that only few knew about... She liked how special it felt because of that. You smile softly at the thought of your mother. I think ill come here more often. I miss her.

A boy from behind the counter snaps his head up to look at you, his blond bangs tossing lightly as he does so. “W.. would you like something?”

You snap out of your daze and realize how long you’ve been just standing there in the doorway, staring at everything. You lock eyes with the boy.

“Oh! Uh-- yeah, I’m sorry! Ahm...” You stutter.

“Don’t worry about it!” He waves it off.

You brush your hair behind your ears and walk to the counter. You quickly read his name tag. Jisung.

His bright smile puts you at a light and airy ease. Maybe I wasn’t as awkward as I thought I was being...?

“Have you been here before...?” He tilted his head to the side like a little kid, eyebrows raised curiously.

Wow. That was attractive.

“Um, kind of... i’ve only been here once. When my brother-- mother!-- brought me... yeah, haha..”

Sparkling conversationalist.

...Wait-- don’t insult yourself! Be positive, Y/N!! You can make your younger self proud today!!!!

You open your mouth to speak, but you don’t know what to say, so you immediately shut it again.

Why is talking to pretty boys so hard?

NO! JUST GO FOR IT! F L I r T !! WHAT DO YOU WANT IN LIFE, HAH?

“...So anyway, that’s basically all we’ve got at this cafe right now.” He looks at you, smiling patiently.

Wait, has he been talking to me this whole time? Agh! I haven’t even been listening!

“Oh! I forgot, we also have--”

“Do you come here often?”

Well. You just made things worse, didn’t you?

“What?”

CODE RED CODE RED CODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCODEREDCO

This is not a thing that makes your younger self proud, Y/N. This is the opposite.

YOU JUST ASKED THE BARISTA IF HE COMES HERE OFTEN. YOU NOW HAVE PERMISSION TO RIP OFF YOUR ANKLES.

You watch in horror as he stares at you, frozen to the touch, with those eyes.

“Oh! Did you ask me if I come here often? I thought I didn’t hear what you said at first. Yeah-- I work here actually! Thanks for asking!” I smiles, oblivious to your failed flirting.

“Oh, um. S-sure thing!”

Mission... not abort..ed?

Well-- This means I don’t ever have to think what happened ever again! Wonderful.

You aren’t sure if he’s actually dumb or if you just suck at reading him-- but either way, there’s no escaping the situation now. Unless you’re willing to literally sprint out of the cafe and run all the way back to your apartment, lock the door, and cry in the shower.

But, unfortunately for everyone else, you aren’t willing to do that.

“Um, when my mom came here, she ordered something really specific, but I can’t remember what it was called or anything...,” You say hesitantly.

“Yeah-- Don’t worry at all! Do you remember what it looked or tasted like at all?”

His enthusiasm encourages you and you feel brighter. “Yeah! Uh, it had strawberries in it, and a special kind of cream-- I think? And then there was this special topping she got on it. It was green? The topping? Sorry if that sounds totally dumb, but I just now that it-- they-- were green, I guess, haha!” You feel your heart start to beat faster the more you talk to him. Why am I nervous? and stuttering?? It’s just a drink, jeez.

Suddenly excited, his eyes squint with a wide smile. “Ooohhh! Were they mint spirals, maybe? I love those soooo much!!!”. You don’t even know what those are, but that isn’t gonna stop you from nodding excitedly with him. It would have been hard not to. When he smiles you kind of just want to join on the thrill, I guess.

You notice a whisper of heat brushing against your cheeks as he turns to the chalkboard behind him and points at a meticulous drawing of a fluffy pink drink. “Did it look like that??”

Excited to have found your mom’s favorite drink, you nod, a big smile leaving your eyes in the shape of giggling crescents. “Yes! Yeah! That’s exactly it, I think!”

His sunshine-smile turns half shy. “Great! I’ll get that just for you then...,” He softly says. He turns his back to you as he hurries around behind the counter to concoct the drink.

Were his cheeks flushed like that this whole time?

... Whatever...

You carefully sit down at one of the pretty little cafe tables closest to the counter so you can be ready to grab your drink as soon as it’s ready. You have maybe a few minutes, so you pull your notebook with the chestnut leather cover out from your purse. You open the middle of the book to where you urgently wrote down the ideas the night before.

things that would make my younger self proud of me:

- keeping a journal

- keeping my body clean

- wearing the clothes that make me feel peaceful

- waking up at a time that makes me feel happy

- wearing the clothes I’m scared others will judge me for

- going to the cafe in a pretty dress that makes me feel happy

- talking to people I feel like talking to but am scared to

- going on a cute date say sike rn

Smiling to yourself, you use a pencil to put a check next to the third-to-last one. You thought of scratching it out, but you didn’t want it to be gone from your precious list completely... you feel you’ll be coming back soon. You like how it feels.

Nevertheless, you are glad you’re here. You’ve gathered the courage to come here when it’s been so hard for you lately! You look down at your lap and give a sigh of relief. Closing your eyes, you take in how it feels to be here.

It’s different, but warm here. It smells of both exotic and familiar flavors. The lullaby effect of the fluffy low-fi music overhead mixed with the gentle metallic sounds of Jisung working behind the counter is somehow comforting. You lift your head and peak over at him slyly, watching as he leans against the mixing machine. He seems to be waiting on something.

You watch almost in shock as he slowly peeks over his shoulder to look at you, making quick eye-contact on accident. You smile instinctively-- not even knowing why.

He turns his face back to what he was doing as soon as this moment happens and you notice a smile he’s hiding and the blush that’s growing on his face. You turn your body to see more of his turned-away face from where you’re at, and as you do, you spy the massive smile he’s desperately trying to hide. Oh dear, he’s adorable.

Bubbles rise in your stomach and your lungs seem to fill with cotton candy as his undeniably-cute, blushing self hits you all at once.

-- o h. Oh n o.

You lean back in your chair again, suddenly very worried.

No? No. No!

It always gets bad once I get crushes on people.

You make an immediate promise to yourself to not at all drop any hints that you kind of want to mayhaps hold this almost-stranger’s hand. Flirting is fine when you don’t actually like the person-- once you genuinely develop feelings, it’s absolutely not a good idea anymore. Everyone knows that. Good, cute things with crushes only happen in fan-fiction and Wattpad stories.

Sike.

All of a sudden, you notice the sound of clinking and whirring has stopped from behind the counter.

“Am-- uh-- am I interrupting you... at all, or something?”

Reality crashes into your view again as you tilt your head up and to the side to lock eyes with Jisung. Ah.

“W--what?”

“Ahm, you just looked kind of... really worried about something.” He furrows his brows, confused. “Anyway-- here’s your drink!”

“Oh-- thank you! Yeah, I was just-- thinking about something! Haha!

He sets your drink on the table and pauses for a moment. “By the way, your dress is really pretty, I think.” Jisung Blush: Activated. “Don’t mean that in a weird way! I just thought you maybe might like to know...”

🎵 KISS KISS FALL IN LOOOVE 🎵🎵🎵🎵

“Oh, thanks! I actually tried this morning, haha!”

“Oh, yeah? Well I think you look great. But you already know that, i guess, haha..” Jisung Confidence: Boosted-- Reason: Compliment Accepted.

You feel your ears heat up as you avert your eyes, looking down at your drink. “Thanks again! It’s funny because I didn’t even have an occasion to dress up for. I just sort of did it to treat myself, I guess.” You smile softly, proud.

“Isn’t that enough of an occasion? I think celebrating yourself is a worthwhile thing.” He sits down across from you, muttering something about how nobody is going to show up to the cafe in a while.

You look up at him, smiling in agreement. “Right? It really helps to take care of yourself. I think it’s one of the best ways to pick yourself back up from something hard.”

He tilts his head like he did before, but this time with worry. “Are you going through something..?... Oh, you don’t have to answer! I pry without thinking first sometimes...”

“No, no! It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about it to others, it’s good for people who need to hear it...” Why do I feel so comfortable with telling him about this..? I’m sure it won’t do any harm. He’s being genuine after all...

“Well, if you really do feel like telling me, we won’t be having customers again until about 10:30-ish. I’m all ears!”

Your heart said: Oof.

As soon as you start explaining the night before and all that lead up to it, he leans in, his hands cupping his face, intent on every word you say. You tell him about all the stress, issues, and fears-- both self-inflicted and otherwise-- that are holding you down lately. He nods and listens, asking clarifying questions.

You notice how his reactions remain compassionate when you talk about the hard things that are happening because of your own mistakes. A feeling of warmth and safety sets in after you finishing your monologue. You apologize for taking so long-- maybe thirty minutes?-- but he immediately tells you it’s all okay.

“No, please don’t say sorry!! I really am grateful when people share what they are going through with me... It helps me to connect with them better and find ways to help them feel better. Don’t be sorry.” He softly smiles and gently asks if you are all done.

“Yeah-- heh-- i’m done. Thank you so much for listening! I’m really grateful I have-- had-- someone to listen to me...” You rub your eyes worriedly, afraid you might have started crying at some point while telling him the whole story.

He stares down at the table for a moment, quiet. “Hey, wanna be random?”

You giggle. “Always.”

“Wanna go on a date?”

“What?”

“I understand if you don’t want to. You seem to be working through a lot of things right now... I don’t want to--” Jisung Blush: Reactivated And Intensified.

“Yes.”

“WhAT?”

“Yeah!.. I think that would be awesome.”

Jisung is suddenly beaming, which makes you instantly happier. Dang, mirror neurons are so cute.

62 notes · View notes

dvp95 · 5 years

Text

quiet on widow’s peak (1)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.2k (this chapter & total) summary: Phil's got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story. Bingo squares: met on tumblr

new wip? NEW WIP.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

The wind is loud in this one. That's frustrating, and it makes Phil's job a lot harder, but he can't control the weather. Be cool if he could. He does his best to level out his voice and the background noise of Mother Nature before he settles in with his good headphones and really cranks the volume.

It's even more annoying to listen to the alternating crackle and whistle right in his ears. Phil has dealt with worse during this whole process, though, so he finds the strength to power through it. He listens to the full thing three times, scribbling a few timestamps down on a Post-It pad as he does. He takes a break after that, does some stretches around his tiny bedroom and tiptoes out to get a snack without waking the whole damn house, and then he's right back in his apparently ergonomic office chair to subject his ears to more of this nonsense.

Wind, wind, and more wind. And sometimes just Phil's own voice. Nothing of note.

Phil is about to give this video up as a loss altogether when he hits one of the final timestamps and... can't figure out what that noise is.

For the first time since he opened this file, Phil grins. He exports the clip and plays around with it in Audacity. Some videos are always more fun than others, and Phil had felt like he was slogging through this one until now.

"Do you hear that, Theodore?" Phil murmurs. The tiny cactus on his desk, thankfully, does not respond.

It sounds like a person. It sounds like a person, whispering, and it definitely isn't the wind, and it isn't Phil's own voice, because he's in the middle of a question in this clip.

Phil might just be going crazy from sleep deprivation or wishful thinking, though. He pulls out his phone and texts the only group chat that doesn't cause him anxiety, which is comprised of the housemates that he actually gets along with. Anyone up? he asks, adding a single eye emoji for good measure.

Even though it's gone two in the morning, he gets immediate responses from all of them. A string of vaguely dirty emojis from Chris, a simple yeah from Sophie, and a cheerfully morbid did you know that insomnia leads to an early death? from PJ.

Wanna listen to a noise for me?

Within three minutes, Phil's bedroom is full of people in various states of sleepiness. All of them are in ridiculous pyjamas - including Phil - and PJ's hair in particular has taken on a mind of its own. Phil's room isn't really big enough for all of them, so there's some awkward shuffling before PJ claims the office chair. Phil sits at the foot of his bed with Sophie and Chris on either side of him, pressed close against each other's shoulders. It's a good thing he likes these people.

"I mean, it isn't the wind," is PJ's confident opinion. "Did you have anyone with you?"

"No, it's just me and my camera against the world," says Phil.

"No need to be a twat," Chris informs him. He taps at PJ's upper arm, impatient. "Let me have a go, then, if there's something there."

Chris is famously bad at hearing things in white noise, but PJ acquiesces the seat easily enough. Phil laughs, watching them do a weird step dance around each other in the small space between Phil's bed and desk.

"I can't hear any specific words," PJ says as he flops down across Phil's pillows, making himself comfortable. Phil just nods, because neither can he.

"How d'you know it's a person, then?" Sophie asks. Her voice is probably the only one soft enough for the hour. Their other housemates hate them for their frequent all-nighters, but Sophie is kind and quiet enough that she slips under the radar.

"You'll see for yourself."

When Sophie goes to respond, Chris interrupts in a hilariously loud voice, as if he's forgotten that having headphones on doesn't mean they can't hear him. "It's some kind of ghoulie or ghostie! I can barely fucking hear it, Philly, why didn't you mic it?"

"Why didn't I mic the ghost?" Phil asks, bewildered. Naturally, Chris doesn't hear him.

Sophie taps Chris on the shoulder and stands, leaning over his shoulder as she takes her turn listening to the sound clip over and over. Chris spins in the chair a few times and gives Phil an unhinged sort of grin.

"You got something this time," says Chris. He sounds like he's having just as much fun as Phil is, now that there's actually a thing to listen to besides his own voice and the loud, loud wind.

"I think so," says Phil. "Why didn't I mic the ghost?"

"I'm saying it would make your job a lot easier if you mic the ghost, yes."

"If I could mic a ghost, I'd be a millionaire."

"Then you better get on it, eh?" Chris laughs, spinning a bit faster. Phil has never seen the man sleep. It's a little bit worrying.

"Sure," Phil says, giving up on trying to teach any logic to someone who's clearly long lost their hold on it. "Next time I spend all night in a graveyard, I'll mic any spirits that might be hanging out."

"Shut up," Sophie tells them, mild.

Chris mimes zipping his lips, wrapping an easy arm around her waist, and PJ laughs.

For the first few months they all lived together, Phil had struggled to keep up with whatever dynamics were going on between the three of them, but he's long since given it up as something he's not going to understand.

After a moment of quiet, Sophie nods. "I hear it," she tells them. Even with the headphones on, she's quiet. "It's not words, I wouldn't put any subtitles over it."

"Yeah," PJ agrees. "Just let your audience duke it out in the comments like they always do."

"Thanks, guys," Phil says, feeling a sort of warmth sink into his shoulders. He notices that Chris is pulling up another application and half-heartedly protests. "Chris, you don't need to edit this one for me. I still haven't paid you for the last video." Or the one before that. Or the three or four previous. Phil has it written down somewhere.

"Don't be stupid," Chris hums, already clicking around erratically. It makes the editor in Phil want to scream, but he has to admit that Chris manages to find more weird visual stuff to isolate than he could on his own.

"I feel bad," says Phil, chewing his lip.

"I've told you," says Chris, "you can pay me back in chores and sexual favours."

PJ's slippered foot knocks against Phil's hip, and he grins brightly when Phil turns to him. "You know, I do have a bit of a laundry backlog."

"Funny thing, that," says Sophie.

Biting back a laugh, Phil shakes his head. "Alright, alright. Everybody leave their laundry in front of my door tomorrow."

"That's a no on the beej, then?" Chris asks, raising a single eyebrow and pointing dramatically at Phil. It has been near two years of this, and Phil is still too afraid to ask if it's a joke.

It's not as if Phil's answer would change if it wasn't a joke, because he's not interested in Chris, and he's especially not interested in becoming entangled in whatever nonsense his housemates have gotten themselves into. But, still, he might be kinder about letting Chris down if he were being genuine.

"That is a no," Phil confirms. "But I will wash your pants."

"Kinky," says Chris. He turns back to the screen and makes an incomprehensible hand gesture. "This is pretty shit. You know that, right?"

Yeah. Phil does know that. It's getting harder and harder to have the same optimism in every video that he'd had when he first started recording his wanderings around the supposedly-haunted places of Rossendale. He'd brought the camera with him when he left, but might have left that optimism behind. Phil only kind of believes in supernatural things - the way he only kind of believes in giraffes or true love - but it's been more fun than anything else to pick up a camera and try to find some evidence.

He's been doing this since he was nineteen, though, and he's getting a little bored by the formula of it all. Go into a haunted place, try to communicate with the spirits, pick up some garbled words or creepy noises, highlight visual oddities like orbs, and let the internet tear it all to shreds. Honestly, he'd have more fun making proper horror at this point in his life.

Phil shrugs and pulls his knees up to his chest. He wants to hide away from the sympathy in Sophie's eyes, from Chris' blunt words. "Yeah. I'm getting kind of... I don't know. Restless."

"Maybe you should ask people to submit things again," PJ suggests. "That went well last time."

It had, actually. Phil had needed to sort through a lot more ridiculous stories and obvious hoaxes than usual, but he'd found some nuggets of gold in all that hay. Or however that saying goes.

"People did like having their stories read out," Phil says slowly. "I'd just need to be extra sure that nobody's, like..."

"Ripping off r/NoSleep," says PJ.

"Yeah, exactly."

"We can help," Sophie says, and Phil could cry at how easily PJ and Chris agree with her.

He really doesn't deserve to have such great people around him. They've got work and lives of their own, but they're always happy to spend time crowded around Phil's computer listening to weird noises together. Phil sometimes wonders what they get out of it. Do they just like helping him, the way he has fun holding the boom for PJ's films or testing Sophie's concoctions? Or are they just as fascinated as Phil by the weirdness of it all? Do they want to see the cool instances of paranormal activity, too? At this point it feels nearly impossible to ask.

"That's going to be a lot of washing pants for me," Phil sighs. He doesn't know how to thank them, not when they always just wave it off.

"Sure is," says PJ. "But you should... ask the audience!"

"Your Chris Tarrant is pretty good," says Phil, only a little surprised by it. PJ's voice is as much of a tool to him as the rest of his body, and it's one he's always been skilled with. The impressions still tend to catch Phil off guard sometimes.

PJ tips an invisible hat. "Thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week."

At his friends' not so gentle encouragement, Phil makes a few posts on his socials to ask his followers for new creepy things to explore. It might be the middle of the night in Brighton, but he has a feeling that Chris isn't leaving his desk until he's found every instance of an orb or strange shadow in the fifty minutes of currently uncut footage.

It seems like Sophie is on the same page, because she excuses herself to make tea for everyone. PJ leans over Chris' shoulder and watches the clips without sound, his lips moving as if he's murmuring to himself.

Sometimes this feels more like a group effort than Phil is comfortable with. He's never been very good at asking for help. As grateful as he is, he still itches with the need to take back control of the situation. He uses the slow trickle of fan submissions to distract him from that feeling, because all three of them do make his videos better when he stops being so possessive over his footage. Phil flops onto his back and scrolls through the incoming emails, tweets, and Tumblr messages to see if there's anything promising.

For the most part, the answer is a resounding no. Some things are blatant lies - there are countless ripoffs of films or novels that Phil happens to be familiar with, a few things swiped from creepypasta or subreddits, and his usual amount of conspiracy theorist fans insisting that some high profile person or other is a lizard - but most of it, to Phil's dismay, just doesn't grab his attention the way he wants it to.

Sophie comes back with tea and snacks. She leans her head against Phil's shoulder and watches him cycle through his apps, fact-checking idly and sighing every time something easily proves to be a hoax. Her hair smells like coconut and she makes a soft humming noise every time she lifts the mug to her lips. Her presence alone, small and warm and supportive, is enough to keep Phil from throwing his phone across the room and having a right sulk about how his career is in a tailspin because nobody makes ghosts like they used to. At some point in the night, Sophie's breathing evens out to the point that Phil thinks she's asleep, but then she reaches out to tap a tiny finger to his screen.

"What's this, then?" she murmurs.

Phil has been zoned out entirely for at least fifteen, and he blinks back into reality. There's a new message in his Tumblr inbox, one that seems like it must be over the character limit for asks. He must have submissions turned on or something, that's the only possible explanation for an actual essay being sent to him. It's barely broken into paragraphs with very little punctuation and no capitalization, and Phil has been staring at screens for far too long to try and parse this on his own.

"Can you please make sure this isn't, like, the entire Bee Movie," Phil asks, handing Sophie his phone with only a slight twinge of anxiety. He trusts her not to go snooping, but. Still. "I need to pee."

"Mhm," Sophie hums, already apparently lost in whatever stream-of-consciousness has been dropped into Phil's inbox.

The floorboards in this old Brighton house creak, and Phil has always envied some of his housemates for being able to sidestep the noises. It doesn't seem to matter how long he lives here, how much he tries to avoid making any noise, it's like the floorboards are determined to creak under Phil's weight. He winces as he passes two bedrooms whose occupants surely don't appreciate creaking outside their doors at such an ungodly hour.

At least he doesn't run into any walls this time. The nightlight in the bathroom at the end of the hall is the only thing lighting Phil's way, and he tends to stub his toes on absolutely nothing in this kind of semi-darkness.

When he makes his - very, very creaky - way back to his own room, he's bewildered by the scene that greets him. PJ and Chris have joined Sophie on his bed, and all three of them are poring over Phil's phone as though they're looking at a map to the Holy Grail.

"Hello," Phil says slowly, closing the door behind him. It creaks, too. "You aren't going through my pictures, are you?"

"No," Sophie and PJ chorus without looking up.

"You got nudes on here or something?" Chris asks with a mild sort of interest, clearly also too engaged in Phil's phone to put his all into the flirting.

"I don't," says Phil. It doesn't sound convincing, even though it's true, and he waits for Chris to tease him about it some more. When he doesn't, Phil has to admit that he's curious. "So I guess it isn't a meme or something?"

That makes them look up, in almost comedic synchronicity. Sophie blinks a few times, as if she's coming back to herself. She holds out Phil's phone and shakes her head.

"It's not a meme," she says. "And near as we can tell, it's genuine."

Phil joins them and takes his phone back, adjusting his glasses. His bed really wasn't made for four people, but his housemates have never had any personal space amongst themselves, and Phil isn't one to say no to human contact when he isn't getting it anywhere else.

The message is just as hard to read as it was at first glance, but Phil puts his brain to work. If his friends are reacting like this, it usually means he's in for something good.

hi ok so the thing is that this is completely ridiculous and i dont think its what youre looking for at all but theres a building near my uni thats got a ton of stories around it and it only started happening like this year like it isnt an old obviously haunted type of place but theres a lot of weird shit that goes down there so i found all the references to it online that i could and ive summarized them here (w/ sources ofc im not a dick) and its all just this side of strange so it seems like the sort of thing you might be interested in ok here we go SO

And it goes on like that. Phil feels his eyebrows raising as he clicks the provided links in the following walls of text, which are exactly what they're advertised as. Not a single rickroll in there. Just a handful of posts on Reddit and Facebook and independent blogs about various experiences people have had with a particular abandoned building in -

"I know this place," Phil says, surprised. He looks up at PJ's grin, Sophie's wide eyes, Chris' palms rubbing together in exaggerated interest. "I've been to parties here. Well, okay," he corrects himself before his friends can do it for him, "I've gone with Martyn to parties here and left early."

"Yeah, it isn't far out of Manchester," PJ hums. He bounces in place a bit, like he's suddenly energized enough to go jump on the soonest train up north.

"It didn't seem that weird," says Phil. "It's been a few years, I guess, but it wasn't even that scary."

"Sounds like it's only just started, though," Chris pipes up.

Phil isn't sure how much he likes that. The idea of a place he's been a few times, half an hour from his childhood home, being so suddenly full of haunted activity feels... weird. Still, it's catching his interest in a way that nothing else has in months, so.

"I'll look into it some more tomorrow," he decides, glancing at the time. His brother is probably still awake, to be honest, but Phil doesn't want to be that guy asking 'hey, do you remember the Wilkins place?' before dawn has even broken. Again. He has definitely done that sort of thing in the past. "I'll have plenty of time while I do, what, seventeen loads of laundry?"

"Something like that," PJ laughs. "Want us to clear out?"

As nice as the company and help has been, Phil still feels a rush of relief at the concept of being left alone again. He nods, still scrolling idly through the Wilkins place submission.

It hits him, very literally, too close to home to ignore. He wonders if his fan knows that, if this is somehow an elaborate prank that will end up just wasting Phil's time, but he's too curious to leave it alone. He'll just have to ask around, see if anyone else has heard these murmurings.

Til then, maybe he ought to try and get some sleep. Phil's computer, still open on the editing software, tempts him.

Well. What's another couple hours at this point?

#phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #words words words #qowp..... mayhaps i made a mistake w this title......#quiet on widow's peak #YES it's another marianas title what are you the marianas title police?#bingo

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imacrowcawcaw · 5 years

Text

Blood Brothers (Sanny)

*Smut alert! Smut alert! Also blood drinking during the smut!*

Author (As known on Various sites): Lady Lover - Rockfic, luluthechoosingcrow- AO3, theladylovingcrow - Wattpad and Deviantart, @imacrowcawcaw - main Tumblr, @theladylovingcrow writing/art Tumblr, @sammy_bluebells - Instagram

Fandom: Greta Van Fleet

Pairing: Sam Kiszka/Danny Wagner (Sanny)

Word Count: about 2500

Warnings/Tags: Vampire AU, blood drinking, gay pairing, smut (finger sucking, rim job, anal sex, masturbation), soulmates, cuddling, fluff, kinda angsty beginning, hurt/comfort, sweet ending

Summary: "He leaned forward to nuzzle his face into the crook of Sam's neck, smelling the coconut oil in his hair and the rich rush of life flowing just below his skin. Danny licked at his jugular, giving it a small, almost affectionate nip before grabbing Sam's arm that was around his back and bringing it forward."

Author's Notes:

Inspired by this post with @satans-helper 's tags and just her generally lovely self:) https://satans-helper.tumblr.com/post/188261333372/edyaleda-greta-van-fleet-by-lewis-vorn

Ahh I finished this hours ago but my phone died before I could post it and I was away from home :( But here it is! Hope everyone enjoys the smutty content lol

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"What do you *mean* she got away?" Sam screeched, looking, just for a second, like a crazed, homicidal *creature*.

Danny shrugged helplessly, running a nervous hand down the front of his faded red jacket. The dried blood on his sleeve was barely noticeable on top of the fabric.

"I don't know! I mean, I was about to go through with it, but then she- she..." he paused, big eyes staring pleadingingly at Sam. "Her mom called her, and she asked for just a minute because she never, ever misses one of her mom's phone calls. And she sounded so happy, so full of life and love and I just couldn't take that from her."

Sam looked back into Danny's slightly wet eyes, and sighed. He wanted to be mad - they hadn't eaten in weeks - but he knew that he would have done the same thing in that moment. Jake was by far the best at getting food.

"We gotta get better at this, babe. You know we can't afford to keep letting them go, not when Joshie and Jake are gone. We have to be tough."

"But it's not right! You know I can't do that to someone! I'm trying to be strong but I'm just too weak. I can't do this, Sammy."

"You're not weak, love, you have a fiercly gentle soul. Nothing can change all the care and compassion you have for people. And I love that you're still so soft, it's one of the most beautiful things about you." In fact, Danny had gotten even gentler as the years passed.

Sam pulled Danny into a hug, mindful of not breaking anything. Just because they could heal ridiculously fast didn't mean he was going to hurt his brother on purpose.

"I just- I feel like I'm not fit to be this, to do this. I'm not ready, and I probably never will be. Wouldn't you want someone else?" Danny whispered into Sam's hair, holding onto him tightly like he was afraid Sam might actually banish him.

"You fit because you're *you*, I wouldn't want anyone else. *We* wouldn't want anyone else, Danny," Sam amended. It didn't matter what his conscious was telling him, Danny had been a part of their family from the very start, way before, even. "You're stuck with us forever now, whether you like it or not. "

Danny chuckled softly, but it was a melancholy laugh, not one of genuine amusement.

"But that means you guys are stuck with me, too. And I can't, can't *hunt*" he forced the word out of his throat like it physically pained him to say it.

"Alright, enough of this self deprecating bullshit. I love you, big man. I'm *in love* with you, which means that I love your quirks, look past your flaws, and accept you for as you are. You can't hunt? You know it's hard for me too, but between the twins and what I can manage to do we'll have plenty, you don't need to. I want you with us because you belong with us, not because of the survival advantages or whatever animal bullshit you're thinking this is. Stop it! I love you, we love you, and we want you here with us!"

It was rare for Sam to get angry, and even then it was often more out of frustration and failed communication than true malice. He didn't know how else to get it through Danny's hair-padded-head that he was as much a part of their family as anybody else.

"Alright, you sap, I get it!" Danny muttered, sounding a little lighter. Sam knew from the tone of his voice that he didn't entirely believe him, but it was a start.

"I *am* sorry I didn't get her, though. I'm really hungry."

Sam sighed and pulled back to look at Danny, arms still around his waist. He didn't want to make him feel worse, but Sam was also seriously needing nourishment. They might technically be starving, actually, and not just in the oh-my-gosh-im-soooo-hungry way.

"Well, I don't think we're gonna be able to get anymore tonight, but there is still..." Sam trailed off, raising a provocative brow and tilting his head so his long tresses swung back, revealing the tendons of his neck.

Danny frowned again. "Sam, you know I wouldn't ever harm you like tha-"

"You wouldn't be! We've talked about this, honey, I've even researched it. It's completely, one hundred percent safe. It's just a little comfort, okay? I know that it won't really satiate the hunger, but I want you, you want me, and it will make us feel good for a while, you know it will."

"But- but we... I... fuck, Sammy," Danny murmered, protests all but forgotten at the sight of his favorite treat: his Sammy.

He leaned forward to nuzzle his face into the crook of Sam's neck, smelling the coconut oil in his hair and the rich rush of life flowing just below his skin. Danny licked at his jugular, giving it a small, almost affectionate nip before grabbing Sam's arm that was around his back and bringing it forward.

Sam's breathing got heavier as Danny rolled up his sleeve, running his hands lovingly over the baby soft inside of his wrist. He could feel his blood pumping, at this point less in his body than there should be as a healthy creature of the night much less a regular mortal. Their diet the last few weeks had been sparse thanks to the two main hunters of their family being gone on what they referred to as a "business trip".

Danny looked up right as he was about to attach his mouth to Sam, eyes shy but laced with a burning hunger he couldn't disguise. It was so endearing how he always cared for Sam - looked out for him, checked with him to make sure everything was all right when no one else would - even as he was about to feast on his blood.

Sam smiled encouragingly at him, eyes heavy lidded and arousal starting to thrum throughout his lower half. They'd discovered that this, the act of sharing blood with eachother, could be incredibly erotic and intimate. Another reason Danny didn't like "hunting" for victims: it was only something he wanted to share with Sam. Even if he didn't let the other person drink from him or have sexual intercourse, it was just too much like cheating to his tastes.

The taste of the blood, however, was sweet. Danny tried to remember what his taste buds were like before; couldn't. Nowadays, everything else was rather bland and muted, everything except blood. It was thick and bitterly sweet, like dark chocolate melted into a bowl and stirred up with sugar.

He drank, knowing he couldn't take much and so savoring every drop that Sam offered him. Danny kept his mouth latched onto the bite, couldn't release to breathe even if he wanted to, lest anything dripped onto the floor. Wouldn't do to waste what they had so precious little of.

Sam made a noise in the back of his throat, a strangled moan of both pain and pleasure. Danny finally pulled back, first holding Sam's wrist above his mouth so that the few drops of blood that could escape before the wound healed could be caught.

Danny was panting heavily, having drunken for nearly a minute without so much as a second-long break. His puplis were beautifully dilated, hiding most of his hazel irises, and they looked at Sam with such a strong message of love and devotion it nearly made him sob.

Now Danny presented his own arm to Sam, running his fingers over Sam's soft, full lips. He felt Sam's mouth part, his sharp canines running over his own skin and nearly slicing open the tip of his thumb.

Sam carefully pricked and sliced each of Danny's fingers, laving his tongue up and down them to catch the blood. He sucked down the digits with hollowed cheeks and hooded eyes, a sparkling of something ethereal, carnal, deliciously sinful glowing from within him.

Danny kept their otherworldly eyes locked, groaned low for Sam to hear how he was effecting him. He carefully curled his fingers within Sam's mouth, running over his palate and tangling with his tongue. Sam sucked him in deeper, swallowing around him and letting Danny feel the convulsions.

Danny laid a hand on Sam's throat, right below his jaw, and the other cupping his cheek, feeling him work. He rubbed his knuckles against Sam's teeth, reslicing them now that the cuts had healed.

Sam kept licking and drinking and sucking and swallowing, enjoying Danny's uniquely rich flavor of blood. Maybe it was because they were mates - by blood, by soul, by heart and mind - that all others paled in comparison to each other.

Sam pulled off of Danny's hand, taking a step back and hurriedly shucking his dark, expensive clothes carelessly, not giving a damn about the ripping fabric from his desperation-boosted-already-superhuman strength. He started helping Danny remove his own clothing before he got with the program and quickly undressed, too.

Danny spun Sam around, pressing him up against the wall in the living room. He snarled when Sam ground his ass back onto his erection, gripping a skinny bicep in one hand and using the other to hold Sam's wrist to the wall. Danny used his body to flatten Sam until he couldn't move, biting lightly - not enough to break the skin, they *never* drank from the throat, despite what some might believe (they werent *killers*) - at the side of his neck where Sam had flipped his hair side.

Keeping the one hand on Sam's bicep and moving the other to push on his back and keep him still, Danny slowly kneeled down so that his face was level with Sam's ass. He bit into the left cheek, drinking the blood that spurred out, then moved on to even more delicious things.

Sam nearly screamed when Danny's mouth closed over his hole. His mouth let loose high pitched groans and a startled yelp when Danny actually went inside the ring with his tongue, forcing him open on the slick muscle.

Danny ate him until he was sloppy and begging for more, the position bringing out Sam's more submissive side. The fingers that were on his arm joined Danny's mouth in exploring Sam's ass, one gently circling and then sliding inside. He moved it in and out for a time alongside his tongue, then added another.

Danny's fingers worked in a V formation, his tongue flicking at the rim of Sam's hole in between them. As he added the third finger and really started to stretch, Danny pulled back so he could watch how Sam's ass clenched down on him. Sam was moaning and thrusting backwards, chasing the brushes of Danny's fingertips against his prostate.

"I'm ready! Please, baby, fuck me, I'm so ready for you."

Danny stood up, keeping his fingers inside of Sam. "You want it? Gonna take me in, love me, hold me? Want you to," he said into Sam's ear, pumping his fingers hard and fast, the weight of his body the only thing holding Sam up against the wall. "Wanna be inside you, fuck you til you scream my name. Fuck, Sammy, so pretty, so sexy. Love you so much."

Danny removed his fingers, and Sam whimpered at the loss as he was turned around again. Sam wrapped his arms around Danny's neck, bringing his heaving chest against Danny's broader one and drawing him into a kiss. They kissed pationately, lips sliding against each other.

Sam pulled away with a gasp, letting Danny hitch him upwards so he could wrap his legs around him. Danny used one hand to guide himself inside of Sam below their connected hip bones, slowly easing the head in as Sam threw his head back and groaned.

They set a slow pace at first, Sam gripping Danny's shoulders nearly tight enough to break the bone. He moaned with his head thrown back, long column of his throat inviting Danny to suck hickeys onto the expanse of skin.

"Fuck! Faster Danny, c'mon an' do me good, honey..."

Danny grunted and sped up in compliance, effortlessly holding Sam up with one arm so that his other could run through Sam's lustrous hair. He snapped his hips, angling down just a little so that his cock rubbed at Sam's prostate.

"Danny! Oh, my god! DaaAANNNNNYYYY!" Sam shrieked, the name of his lover being pounded put of him and drawn out into a scream of intense pleasure.

Sam circled the head of his dick with his fingers, letting it gain the friction he needed to come from their moving stomachs. He orgasmed with the most beautiful expression Danny had ever seen on his face.

Danny fucked him through it, pistoning his hips right against his sweet spot and letting the rhythmic clenching take him over the edge, too.

"Ugnnn, Sam..."

They stood there - or, Danny stood there with his hands on Sam's ass and his mate's skinny legs hanging limp on either side of his hips, foreheads together. Sam panted against Danny's mouth, coming down from his orgasm with a blissed out, satisfied look on his face.

"I love you," Danny said to him, kissing his cheek tenderly.

"I love you too, so much," Sam replied, rubbing their noses together in a feline kiss.

Sam sighed when he got down from his perch on Danny's canted hips. They kissed again, soft and sweet this time, licking at the dried blood smeared across each other's mouths.

"C'mon, come lay down with me."

Danny took Sam's hand, let him lead them down the hall towards the giant memory foam king in the room to the left. Jake said it was ironic that they nearly maxed out a credit card on nice mattresses and bedding when they didn't sleep, but that didn't stop him from enjoying his own. Sam reminded him that there were other things one can do in a bed besides sleep, and that he'd definitely heard Jakey 'use' his mattress in that way.

Danny curled around Sam, wrapping his long limbs around him and pulling up their weighted comforter.

"Hey, why were you wearing a suit? Planning on going out?"

"Planning on *taking* you out," Sam corrected, noting the slight hint of not-quite-jealousy-not-quite-curiosity in Danny's voice. "I was thinking we could go to that nice German restaurant we drove past on Tuesday, I've been craving that schnitzel from the pub in Frankenmuth Village."

"You know it won't taste like it used to, Sammy, even if it was made by Herr Michels."

Sam sighed, "Yeah, I know. But, I still wanna go somewhere nice with you. Show off my man."

Danny laughed softly, tightening his arm around Sam's abdomen.

"Okay, we can go in a little bit. I wanna hold you first, though."

Sam rolled over in his arms, giving Danny an affectionate look. He kissed him, then rested his head on Danny's shoulder. They lay there, basked in the glow of the rising moon, not able to sleep but enjoying each other's company.

They were as connected as connected could be. No longer could anyone say that they weren't brothers, weren't related. They were blood brothers, blood lovers, soulmates for eternity. Their family would continue on in it's love forever.

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