#i tried recording the dreaded smudge of this one but i got so scared and had to put my phone down lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avionvadion · 3 years

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Great. Now I want to see a one shot about what would happen if El poofed back to her world.

This... wasn’t really what I wanted. I thought maybe I could grow to want it, to love this person beyond being a good friend, but I couldn’t. Even now, walking down the aside in a dress I only ever dreamed about someday being lucky enough to wear, I just felt... empty.

It’s been five years since I was taken from Twisted Wonderland, since my curse broke and I was stolen from the college I had started to view as home, from the friends I came to love and see as family. They were probably all graduated and working proper jobs now.

I worried my bottom lip and sighed quietly, closing my eyes briefly as I once more tried to remember his face. Not the face of the person I was about to marry, but the face of the one I loved. I never even really got to learn his real name.

There was the kiss, and the flower that burst into flame, and that weird dream...

And then I had woken back up in my world, inside my bed, and my family had all but screamed. I had to lie and make up a story about what happened, and that I didn’t really remember anything, because I knew they would never believe me. I didn’t even believe things when I first arrived in that world.

But now... here I was. I had gone back to work and lived my old life the way I did before magic had been introduced, before monsters and people threatened me on a daily basis, and after some arguing I begrudging agreed to meet the friend of a co-worker.

He was kind. Gentle. Understanding. A bit average in the side of looks, but I didn’t mind. He was very nice. He even agreed to hold off on going any further until marriage, which was... a relief. Looking back on it, I think it was just my excuse to try and avoid the inevitable.

He wasn’t the person I loved. I cared about him, but not in the way he did me. He deserved better. I was just going to hurt him in the end. I...

I want Mr. Horns.

The man standing beside me smiled softly and held a hand up, fingers brushing against my cheek to wipe away the tears. “What’s the matter, Ellie? That happy?”

I said nothing, even as the priest began to read our vows. The heavy feeling in my chest only grew, and I choked back the sob building up in my throat. I really didn’t want to do this. I was dreading it all.

Please... If there’s any magic in this world, please send me back. I won’t be able to live like this. I’m scared.

If you really are a fae, then do what they’re known to do and steal me away. I thought we were going to be together after what happened. You promised me.

Mr. Horns...

A gust of wind blew around the area as the groom spoke his vows. He grasped my hand tightly, tears in his eyes as he smiled. I tried to be happy, to make myself feel as though I was in love, but I couldn’t.

When it was my turn to speak, the words got caught in my throat. I could feel the pressure, the anxiety and the fear, building up, and the terror that maybe this was the end. This emptiness, this sorrow, was going to be the rest of my life.

“What do you think you’re doing, child of man?”

The bouquet fell from my hands. Several gasps echoed from the audience and I turned my head, heart slamming against my ribcage, eyes wide with disbelief. It was him. Standing there. In the middle of aisle, flower petals crushed beneath his feet.

“Wh-What are you!?” The groom exclaimed, pushing me behind him. “Who are you!?”

“M... Mr. Horns?” Everyone turned to look at me in shock. It was the first thing I said all morning. Pushing the groom’s arm out of the way, I stepped over the fallen bouquet. “Is... Is that really you?”

Beautifully familiar chartreuse eyes met mine, his charcoal-colored lips tilted up in a smirk. He seemed pleased to see me abandoning the person I was meant to wed in favor of him, and while I knew that probably made me a terrible person I didn’t really care. He was here.

I broke out into a small run, wheezing as I picked up the hem of the dress. The tears fell without my consent, and I sobbed- crashing into him and wrapping my arms around his waist as tightly as I could. “I-I thought I’d never see you again! I-! I missed you! I-!”

A hand rested against the back of my head, holding me close to his chest. He leaned, kissing my hair. “I quite missed you as well, my darling little human. Who gave you permission to leave?”

“I-I didn’t want to!” I didn’t even care if my make-up got smudged or smeared. I sniffled and looked up at him, leaning into his touch when he cupped my face and brushed away my tears. “I was... so scared that I’d... never see you again.”

Gods, I’m so relieved. I can’t believe he’s actually here. I almost feel twenty again, like we were back in the college outside the abandoned dorm. My beautiful dragon fae.

“So you felt you should marry another man?” He challenged.

Ah, yeah. He was definitely annoyed. I worried my bottom lip again, blinking a few times to clear my vision, and reached up to grab his hands, lacing his fingers with mine.

“I didn’t... want to. I wanted to marry you.”

He looked very pleased at that. Pulling me close, he wrapped an arm around my waist and cupped my cheek, pressing his lips to mine. I melted almost immediately, reaching my arms over his shoulders as I stood on my toes. When we pulled away I gasped, breathing a little heavily.

“C... Can I?”

He hummed, staring at me for a moment, before he leaning down and hoisting me up into his arms- causing me to let out a yelp. He started to walk down the aisle, staring down the groom as green flames sparked out from beneath his feet.

People started screaming, jumping out of their chairs at the sudden fire, while others took out their phones to record the strange scene that was occurring. The groom was trembling, and I tugged on Mr. Horns’ ascot to catch his attention.

“Don’t... hurt anyone, okay? They didn’t steal me away.”

His chartreuse eyes flickered, slit pupils becoming paper thin. “You expect me to forgive him for taking what’s mine?”

My warmed at that and I blinked, awkwardly looking away. “Th-That’s... not what I’m saying. I’m just saying don’t hurt him.”

Mr. Horns’ grip tightened. He hovered over the groom, staring him down, and he let out a low growl. “Be grateful, mortal. My bride has allowed you to live.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #fanfic #eleanora quince #malleus draconia #ask #story snippet

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chubbyheroesworthyheroes · 4 years

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🐷 With Laslow! There's a great moment where he's a big feedee to Peri's feeder so fun to be had there

When Anankos had come to Ylisse, asking for help to save his home, it hadn’t taken much convincing to get Inigo, Severa and Owain to agree to give him their aid. After seeing Grima defeated, and hearing what Anankos could tell them of his dragon half, the three couldn’t help but see the similarities in this other realm’s plight. A dragon gone mad in another life had taken everything from them, and having saved their futures in this world, helping to save others from the same sort of pain felt only right to them.

They had to change their names and their attire to blend in, but upon crossing the bridge between space and time, something had gone a little…haywire for Inigo – or, Laslow, he supposed he should get used to going by that now.

It wasn’t anything horrible, really, he just…Well, to put it plainly, he came out the other end a little mixed up. It was terribly embarrassing, realizing that he had the ears and tail of a pig. Laslow wasn’t a vain person, but he did think himself rather charming to look at, and this surely wouldn’t help his already abysmal track record with women. They got no explanation for why this had happened from Anankos, but, luckily enough, Owain – now Odin – was able to hide the offending features with a glamour, as he called it – essentially, it was a spell that would make him look just as he had before they traveled over from Ylisse.

It had worked surprisingly grand for most of their time in Nohr, to the point where Laslow had practically forgotten about it, but a hitch cropped up eventually…

As the conflicts between Nohr and Hoshido hit a fever pitch – and Valla came into play – Laslow had become quite close to his fellow retainer, Peri. As with most of his interactions with those of the fairer sex, it hadn’t gone completely smooth. Peri was an incredibly unique person, and they both had some very hit or miss moments before they eventually hit the sweet spot with each other.

And, boy, what a sweet spot it was!

Outside of being utterly vicious on the battlefield, Peri was a master of cooking. She could handle anything in the kitchen with ease and glee, and once they were wed and there was less fighting for her to take part in, Peri took to the kitchen to get her energy out. It helped her curb her tendency to maim servants, something that Laslow stood very firm on not being a good thing, and gave her an outlet for the anxieties of her past. As a result, they had very few servants around, especially when it came to the kitchens; they mostly handled all the work to be done in their own home, so there was rarely a need for anyone else to help around the place.

Of course, on account of spending so much more time in the kitchen, it seemed a great deal of their relationship revolved around the incredible dishes Peri would make. She’d often excitedly tell Laslow what she had planned for the day, and he’d do his best to make the whole meal feel like a special event – it was like they’d never stopped courting after marriage.

Peri never did anything by halves, however, and this is where that previously mentioned hitch comes in…

Overenthusiasm in the kitchen led to Peri making way too much food for just the two of them. Laslow often did his best to eat as much as he could, but he wasn’t the type to really eat more than two servings at a meal. He didn’t want his darling wife to think that he disliked anything she made – which was true, he honestly loved every meal she’d cooked for him – so he tried to push his stomach to take in more at every meal, much to Peri’s gleeful encouragement. In the sense of taste, it wasn’t an issue; Laslow would eat her cooking nonstop, if he could, simply for the tastes alone! It was how rich and dense everything was that made it so difficult…

After every meal – breakfast, lunch, dinner – Laslow felt like he’d swallowed a lead ball. An incredibly delicious lead ball, but a lead ball all the same. He’d usually end up beached in bed by the end of the day, moaning and groaning as he tried to rub some relief into his overstuffed belly.

And, really, there was nothing else to call it but a belly now. Where before he’d had a trim, lithe physique, the past few months had seen his middle round out steadily with every heavy meal he ate. Of course, the rest of him seemed to be following with this trend; his ass and thighs had plumped up as well, a small swell of a double chin and even some jiggle to his arms. What else he’d started to notice, after every meal, is that the spell Odin had cast on him seemed to flicker away more and more. It had been hardly noticeable at first, just a flash of there and then gone again, but as time went on and Peri continued to encourage him to eat more and more of her food, those dreaded pig features were coming back full force.

Laslow had done his best to keep his ears and tail from his wife hidden, but Peri was more observant than she let on, and he tended to get so wrapped up in their meals that he didn’t notice the way her gaze would be drawn to those oddly cute features of his. She loved to see him enjoying her food, and what could be better than spoiling her little piggy with the best food she could make, day in and day out?

All she had to do was get her darling husband to accept what he was…

Laslow sighed to himself as he stared hard at his reflection in the mirror. He really was leaning in a bit too much with this happy wife, happy life thing. He’d gone from chubby to downright fat, his clothes getting harder and harder to squeeze into. Not only that, of course, but those blasted pig ears and curly tail were back full force. He’d have to see if Odin could repeat the spell he’d used before, but it was a bit difficult to get into contact with his theatrical friend.

“Hey, Las, I have a special treat for you~!”

Laslow jumped at Peri’s voice, immediately pulling his hands away from where he’d been inspecting his sagging belly and rotund buttocks. “O-Oh, do you now?” he stammered, startled by her sudden appearance in the room.

“Mhm, why don’t you go lay down on the bed. Get nice and comfortable for me,” Peri purred in his ear, steering him away from the mirror and over to their bed. Her fingers sunk in just a bit as she held onto his arm, making her burst out into an excited grin as she practically shoved him backwards onto the mattress.

“Hey!” Laslow yelped in surprise, cringing a little when the bed creaked at his weight being tossed onto it. “What sort of treat is this…?”

Grinning widely, Peri snapped her fingers. A small parade of people came in through the door, carrying in what had to amount to a mountain of food; platters, plates, bowls – all piled high and overfull with food. Laslow squirmed as the bountiful feast that Peri had put together was laid out around him on the bed, the servants quick to leave despite Peri’s cheerful mood. He stared at her like a deer in the headlights as she locked the door behind the last person, and picked her way onto the bed with all the ease of a prowling cat.

“We’re gonna do something fun, and it’ll bring out your true colors,” Peri hummed, delighted with herself, as she picked out a plate of fluffy-looking cupcakes from the large stash of food she’d had brought in. They were moist and fluffy, liberally covered in pastel pink frosting and each topped with a bright red cherry. “And I don’t wanna hear any complaining, alright? I’m gonna make you feel so special,” she giggled, pressing the first cupcake eagerly to his mouth.

Laslow was flustered and confused, but obliged and opened his mouth, biting into the baked treat without too much hesitation. He groaned at the sweet flavor of it, fingers curling just a bit into the bedsheets as he chewed and swallowed. Gods, that was good, and as soon as he’d made a noise of approval at the taste, Peri didn’t give him any time to formulate a question as to what had brought all this on. Peri watched closely as she fed him one cupcake after another, Laslow easing into the simple pace and the tasty treats quickly, her eyes glittering with excitement when she saw the flicker and sputter of what had to be magic around him.

“That’s right, just keep on enjoying those,” she crooned, letting him suck frosting off her thumb as she watched whatever spell that had been concealing his altered ears and tail shimmer away, leaving those adorable pig features out in the open now. “Aw, there’s my cute li’l piggy!”

Jolting out of the sweet distraction of cupcakes at those words, Laslow immediately tried to cover up those floppy ears with his hands, his face a brilliant red from embarrassment. “W-Wait, no, don’t–” he began to protest, but Peri quickly silenced his worries by shoving the last cupcake into his open mouth.

“I’m so mad you tried to hide something so cute from me, my little piggy!” Peri huffed, though there was a playful grin on her face as she pressed her pointer finger against his frosting smudged lips. “But, you can make it up to me, lovely. That’s what all this is for, after all! I told you I was going to make you feel special, and I will. I just need my cute pig to do what cute pigs do best~”

Struggling to chew and swallow through so much stuffed into his mouth at one time, Laslow managed out a muffled, “…And what’s that?”

Pushing him back against the headboard, and swinging a leg over his chubby belly so that she could straddle his plush hips, Peri leaned in close with a familiar, predatory smile on her face.

“Piggies eat and eat, and they just love whatever food they’re given! And I brought my piggy only the best of what I can make, so he better to his best to eat it all up!” she giggled, eyes narrowing and grin seeming sharper as she reached for a fresh plate of food.

Laslow wasn’t sure if he should be scared, embarrassed or aroused at this – being the man he was, he chose to embrace the aroused above the other two and inspect those feelings after this was all said and done.

Peri was fast and furious with her feeding, barely letting him breathe between mouthfuls. She did distract him with affection, though; kissing at his neck and chubby cheeks, teasing licks at the corner of his mouth that would only turn into a kiss if he managed to finish off what she’d given him to eat in time, sharp nails pinching and grabbing at his stomach as it steadily filled up to the brim with food. It was fascinating to watch for her, to see the soft lump of his gut turn hard and bloated as she stuffed him absolutely silly with good food. His entire face was flushed a beautiful red, his chubby body squirming on the sheets as she teased and taunted him. He made the best noises, too; breathless moans after swallowing down a large serving of food, whines and cute whimpers when she roughly pressed the heel of her palm against the stuffed bulge of his stomach.

They were about halfway through the mountain of dishes when Laslow really started to slow up, pudgy hands rubbing carefully at his overfull tummy. There was almost no give left, just a tight, round belly gurgling away as it struggled to process the influx of food.

“Aw, come on, we’re not done yet, sweetheart!” Peri urged, knees squeezing into his plush thighs as she grabbed onto the doughy rolls at his side and gave him a little shake. “I went though so much work to make all this for you, piggy, and I want you to eat it…”

Laslow grunted, trying to find a comfortable position, but stuck on his back from the sheer amount of food weighing his gut down as well as Peri’s deceptively strong hold on him. “B…But I don’t think I can–Mmph?!” his wheezing protest is cut off by Peri shoving more food into his face, his pig ears perking up at the force she used.

“Ah, ah, ah…Good little piggies do as they’re told~” Peri hummed, continuing to feed him past his limits, one hand massaging and squishing at his overstuffed belly as she forced more into it with determination.

She’d give him a good long cuddle after they were done, but only until he’d licked every plate clean and she’d busted those straining buttons off of his pants first.

#Anonymous #male weight gain #male wg #pig transformation #pig tf #chubby!laslow/inigo #peri/laslow #catch me making up so much bullshit here #but you can pry bratty dom peri/shy sub laslow from my cold dead hands cause we know thats how itd be #i hope this is okay!#wanted to change it up a bit from my previous sudden tf scenarios so far

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fernwehbookworm · 4 years

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Haunted- Chapter 3

“I don’t know what to tell you Kar. There is no one here, no forced entry, nothing.”

“How do you explain the mirror then?” Kara paces in her apartment while her sister continues to check every corner of her apartment.

“I don’t know. There isn’t anything there anymore. Normally smudges like that will stay until you clean it, at least a little, but I tried to fog it up and it's as clean as a whistle.”

“I’m telling you, it was there.”

“I’m sure it was. You don’t overreact. But I don’t know what to tell you.”

Kara collapses on her couch groans, her head hurt from lack of sleep and stress. Kara pinches the bridge of her nose and scrunches her eyes tight. Kara feels her sister sit next to her.

“You can come stay with me. Kelly has been spending a lot of time at the office anyway, helping prep some new technology for Obsidian to release next year.”

“Yeah, yeah okay. I’m going to pack a bag real quick. Can Streaky come? It's supposed to storm all week.”

“The stray?”

“Is he really a stray when he lives his best life?”

Alex laughs “Yeah, he just conned you into feeding and housing him.”

“And he returns the favor with love and affection.” Kara looks at the cat in question, lounging on the loveseat, in a weak sunbeam, purring contentedly.

“If he makes you feel better then yes, bring him. But he pees on one thing and it's back outside.”

“He isn’t a dog, Alex. He goes in the litter box just fine.”

Alex makes a face but relents. Kara goes to pack some clothes and toiletries and Alex grabs the cat’s belongings. Kara was right, dark clouds were already descending upon the city to start the week of rain and storms.

With a bag over one shoulder and a cat under the other, Kara leaves her apartment with her sister. She could be overreacting, but the mirror thing was too creepy to ignore. And Kara had to work on this article, already Snapper was criticizing her rough drafts and decimenting her sentence structure. Kara was already dreading the emails she knows are piled in her inbox from her editor. Kara called off work and just knew Snapper would not be happy with it. In order to keep the screaming to a minimum, Kara was going to have to have the first draft done by tomorrow.

“Okay,” Alex says when they get to her apartment. “Will you be fine by yourself? I have to go to work.”

“Yes. I feel better already.” Kara lets Streaky go and he immediately lands and scurries off to explore the new space.

“If you need it, you still know the safe code right?”

Kara scrunches her nose, “Yes, not that I like guns.”

“You have a Federal Agent for a sister.” Alex rolls her eyes. “It's just in case. I don’t know what is happening but I want you to protect yourself if you need to.”

“I will, Al. Go on to work. I’m just going to work on my article. Maybe take a nap.”

“Yes, please sleep. You look exhausted. Help yourself to food too.” Alex kisses her sister’s forehead. “Goodbye, call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Be safe”

Alex flashes a smile before leaving. Kara does feel better here, in her sister's home. It's full of love and memories of game nights. Also, Kara knows where at least six weapons are hidden that Alex made sure that Kara (and now Kelly) were trained to use. Kara turns the lock on the door and raids the fridge for snacks and something to drink before settling into work.

After about two hours, Kara’s eyes are beginning to droop and her yawns are uncontainable. “Okay, 20-minute nap. Then right back to work.” Kara mumbles to herself.

Kara settles on Alex’s super comfortable sectional and pulls a blanket off the back of it. As soon as Kara is comfortable, Streaky jumps onto her stomach and begins to purr. Kara runs her hands through soft fur and allows the motion and vibration to lull her into a much needed nap.

Welcome to the Hotel California

Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)

Such a lovely face

Plenty of room at the Hotel California

Any time of year (any time of year)

You can find it here

Kara wakes with a start. The warmth on her stomach is gone and there is music playing.

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted

She got the Mercedes Benz, uh

She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys

That she calls friends

How they dance in the courtyard

Sweet summer sweat

Some dance to remember

Some dance to forget

Kara locates the record player that Streaky is sitting next to and intensely staring at as the record spins round and round. He must have turned it on by accident. The cat tended to be too curious for his own good. With a sigh, Kara stands and goes to turn it off, picking up the car and moving him to the floor. Streaky protests but Kara ignores him. Upon inspection, nothing seems damaged. If Alex would kick Streaky out for peeing on something, she would shoot him for scratching one of her vinyl records.

Awake now, Kara sets back to work, determined to at least finish the first draft before five. Around noon, Kara helps herself to leftovers in Alex's fridge and continues working. Kara is deep into her final paragraphs when the TV clicks on, blaring sound. Kara practically leaps from her chair as the creepy piano plays.

You unlock this door with the key of imagination.

Beyond it is another dimension- a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind.

You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas.

You've just crossed over into . . . the Twilight Zone.

Kara feels as if her heart is beating in her throat and her stomach has fallen through the floor. Streaky is on the back of the couch, half laying on the remote.

"Boy… are you trying to scare me to death?" Kara laughs to herself and rescues the remote from under the cat and turns off the TV. Just ten more minutes of work and she will be done. Sending it off to Snapper to be covered in notes and changes and insults. But that is a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, Kara is going to make dinner for her sister and her sister's girlfriend and try and put this morning behind her.

Kara must be more tired then she thinks she is, even with the nap she had. All while making dinner she drops half a dozen utensils and misplaces just as many things. She could have sworn the bell peppers were right next to the cutting board as she chopped the carrots, but when she went to grab them they were on the counter behind her next to the stove. The peeler fell to the floor without Kara even touching it and the sharp knife followed a few minutes later, almost striking her foot on its dangerous journey down.

Kara was clumsy and a bit forgetful at the best of times, adding in only about eight hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours, and Kara was a God damn hazard. But Kara was determined to make this chicken stir fry as a 'Thank you' to her sister. By 6:30 everything is done and staying warm in the oven and Kara waits for Alex, her sister had texted her about fifteen minutes ago that Alex was leaving work. Kelly would be about an hour more. Another ding of Kara's phone. Kara checks and it's a text from Jess, letting her know that L-Corp released more information to the reporters.

Kara decides to browse the new information while she waits. Picking up the green pen she had taken from L-Corp, Kara sets to taking more notes. She always found it was better to handwrite things first, it helps the information sink into her brain before transferring it to a digital format. Movement out of the side of her eye breaks Kara from her concentration. With a gasp, Kara sees Lena pacing by Alex's balcony door. But as soon as Kara focuses on her, Lena is gone with a blink. A chill passes down Kara's spine. Kara throws down her pen and tries to calmly walk to the kitchen for some water.

"I'm just overtired. That's it. Too focused." Kara mumbles to herself between sips of the cool liquid.

"Hey!" Alex calls and Kara jumps with a small yelp.

Alex throws her a questioning look from the front door and immediately scans the apartment for danger. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just been working too hard I think."

"You really need to take time off."

"I know. I know. This is just such a crucial time. Anyway… dinner is ready. Chicken stir fry."

Alex's face softens from the concerned big sister to an appreciative hungry woman. "Great, Kelly said she won't be home until like 7:30 now so it's just us.

"So… Sister Night?"

"Sister Night" Alex confirms.

Kara squeals and grabs bowls to load with the medley of rice, vegetables, and protein. Alex grabs glasses for wine and heads into the living room to que up the newest season of Umbrella Academy. They watched the first season together and pinky swore to only watch the second together also.

After an episode, Alex gathers the dishes and disappears into the kitchen. She returns with a pint of Ben and Jerry's for each of them, allowing her sister to pick first. They swap halfway through the containers and Kara hums in satisfaction as she scraps the last of the melted ice cream from the bottom.

Kara ignores the fact that Alex keeps checking her phone. She's waiting on Kelly who is now half an hour later then she said she would be. It isn't until the end of the third episode that Kelly finally makes it home. Alex leaves Kara on the couch as they hear the front door open and the sound of bags hitting the floor and shows roughly kicked off.

"Hey babe! Kara made dinner. You hungry?" Kara hears Alex call.

"No thank you. I'm just tired. But I could go for a glass of wine."

"Coming right up."

Kara can hear the two in the kitchen now, talking quietly as Kara scrolls through her phone, waiting on them to come back. Alex sits in the middle of the couch, Kelly tucks herself into the corner and stretches her feet onto her girlfriend's lap. Kara resumes her position of her head on Alex's shoulder and their arms intertwined. Alex switches the show to something less intense and the Parks and Rec theme song starts.

Kara can feel the vibrations of Alex talking to Kelly about their days against her cheek. Between that and the familiarity of the show's dialogue, Kara can soon feel herself slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

Lena is alone in the lab. It's late, darkness permeates the lab except for the lights around where Lena is working. Lena types vigorously at her laptop, brow furrowed in concentration. Lights are blinking on the machine behind her. Lena is mumbling under her breath. Kara laughs but it sounds weird, muffled.

“Hey, Lena.”

Lena doesn't respond, just continues to type away. From behind her ear, Lena produces a pen to begin writing. A green pen. With gold trim. The very pen Kara had acquired from L-Corp. After a few, what Kara can only assume is, equations, Lena cries out. Kara jumps with the rudeness of it, but then a giant grin spreads on Lena’s face. Lena begins to giggle excitedly while she inputs something into her computer and then Lena practically skips over to the machine and flips switches and turns dials. Then Lena runs back to her computer and the large machine begins to hum, lights flash. Quickly, Lena grabs an apple from next to her computer and places it on the small platform in the middle of the center hole.

Lena is fixated on the apple, only looking away to check her computer. Lena is so focused, Kara smiles to herself. It’s really cute. Kara stays back and watches the scene unfold. She feels excitement build in her chest, matching the excitement on Lena’s face.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kara sees a shadow move. It slides between desks and chairs, nearly shapeless and silent. Lights from the machines make a beacon in the near darkness, making the shadow even harder to see. Lena’s back is to it as she inches closer to the machine. Then the shadow materializes into a human form, completely shrouded head to toe. It reaches a handout and turns a dial out of Lena's eye line. Kara cries out but Lena can't hear her. The shadow slinks back into the darkness and is gone. Something changes in the hum of the machine. The light that had been circling the apple in the opening began to increase speed. Lights began to blink rapidly all over the network of technology. Lena's glee was slowly morphing into terror. Bright white light is building from the center and the hum has turned into more of a whine as it builds.

"No! No, no, no, no!" Lena exclaims as she scrambles to start turning switches and dials to turn off the machine. But it's too late. The damage has been done.

Kara has to close her eyes against the harshness of the light and feels herself get blown backward by the concussive force of whatever is happening. By the time she can see again, Lena is gone. The room is left in the same devastated state that Kara saw when she first arrived at L-Corp.

"Lena!" Kara yells, waking herself up.

Kara looks around to get her bearings. Alex and Kelly are still sitting on the couch next to her, staring at her in concern. Kara leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, bearing her face in her hands and taking deep breaths. After a moment she can feel Alex rubbing circles between her shoulder blades.

"Bad dream?" Alex asks softly.

Kara nods and continues to try and calm her racing heart.

After a few minutes, Kelly softly asks, "Who's Lena?"

Kara must have yelled out loud and that's what woke her. "The woman I'm doing a story on. The CEO of L-Corp. She died in a lab accident. Well they assume. There isn't a body."

"And are you stressed about that?" Kelly probs gently.

"Yeah. I haven't been able to sleep. I've been up late working and then when I do sleep, I have dreams about her."

"Are they all nightmares?"

"No. Sometimes it's just like she is there in whatever weird dream I'm having. Sometimes we sit and have a conversation. Sometimes in my apartment, sometimes in the lab. That was the first nightmare."

Kara finally looks at her sister and Kelly. Alex looks concerned but Kelly has on her very serious face. The 'I'm psychoanalyzing someone' face.

"Is that the only time you see her?"

"Are you shrinking me right now?" Kara asks with a laugh.

Kelly makes a face at Kara's term. "I'm concerned that my girlfriend's sister is showing signs of stress-related anxiety."

Kara relents. "No. I keep seeing her out of the corner of my eye. Passing by a window, sitting next to me. Across the room. Just snatches. When I focus on her she's gone. It’s so weird. Like, I never knew her but somehow I’ve imagined entire conversations with her.”

Kelly is quiet for a moment. When Kara looks over at her, Kelly and Alex seem to be having a silent conversation with their eyes. A few nods and Kelly’s eyebrows furrow, Kara can’t see Alex’s face but assumes she is being just as expressive. With a huff of air, Alex turns back to her sister and continues to rub between Kara’s shoulder blades.

“Kara I really think you need to take time off. This amount of stress is not healthy. And this is not a healthy reaction to the death of a stranger.”

“I know. I told Alex I would after the article is submitted I would. But Lena, she deserves this. She deserves to be remembered for all the good she has done. Not for the awful crimes of her brother. Did you know she sponsors several group homes in National City? Not L-Corp, Lena does, personally. She even uses those homes to look for interns and to give scholarships to teens. I just… I can’t let her be forgotten. And all those other reporters, they are just going to twist the story. Or give bare-bone facts. I promised Jess and all the other employees I would write this. I can’t stop now.”

“You don’t have to. But look, maybe you can come to Obsidian tomorrow. We are working on this new virtual reality tech and how it can be used in therapy. Maybe I can help you get past this so you can sleep.”

“But I have to…” Kara trails off when she sees the glare from her sister. “Yeah, okay. I’ll come first thing. Then maybe I can still finish reading through this new research and get a copy to Snapper.”

“Good. It’s settled. I’m going to shower. Alex, get your sister a bed made up on the couch so that she might get some sleep. Goodnight, Kara.”

“Night, Kelly.”

When Kelly is gone, Alex wraps her sister up in a tight hug. “Don’t work yourself to death. I need my sister.” Alex kisses Kara’s forehead and then stands to get the extra blankets and a pillow from the closet.

“And I need mine. That’s why I am here. And your brain doctor girlfriend is going to fix me right up.” Kara tries to joke but it falls a little flat. Alex tries to smile but it looks more like a grimace.

“Sleep tight. We are just in the next room if you need us. Please, wake me up if you need anything.”

“I will. Goodnight, Al.” Kara settles under the fluffy blanket and rests her head on the pillow.

Alex moves about, checking locks and turning off lights before finally retiring to her bedroom. Kara can soon hear the shower turn off and Kelly and Alex talking in the bedroom. It’s too soft to make out words but the drone of it is comforting and Kara is soon slipping back into unconsciousness.

#supergirl #supercorp #scbb2020 #scbb #Fanfiction #Au #Haunted

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dearlazerbunny · 5 years

Text

Lie to Me (Ch. 13 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1900

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, whom I have now kidnapped and am holding hostage in my bedroom so they can be my full-time cheerleaders

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity, @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings

Walking into Loki’s cell the next day is… difficult. The screams you threw at him are still echoing in your ears, the alcohol (or sudden lack of) is still making your brain sluggish, and your head hurts from all the crying you did late in the night. You’re dreading his glare; the icy tone of his voice. Did you just undo months of friendship in one day? You very well might’ve. He trusted you with his fears and struggles about Thor and you threw it back in his face for what? Some sort of twisted reassurance that your life was worse than his at that moment? Horrible.

There are so many apologies lingering on your tongue you feel choked with them, and there’s a terrible tightness in your limbs. The feeling intensifies when you walk in and he’s got that awful blank look in his eyes just like he did when you first met him. It scares you to no end; thinking you might’ve lost him.

“Hey.”

His gaze does shift your way as you approach, thank god. You open your mouth to pour out your apologies, but nothing comes out. Useless. In a fit of anxiety, your fingertips end up brushing the wall of glass in front of you. There’s still a smudge on it from where you smacked it the day before. Ugh. Rather than try and put what you’re feeling into words, you let your forehead bang against the glass, eyes on your feet. “I’m a terrible person.” Your face scrunches in effort to hold back an unexpected wave of emotion. “I-”

“Tell me about him.”

“Huh?” His tone is still cool- a little more reserved- but you know an olive branch when you see one.

“Your brother. Tell me about him.”

“O-okay.” Where to start? Your indecisiveness wiggles its way out through your fingers, and they flex against the glass. “Well. He was super smart, first of all. The type of person who could walk into a room and instantly see all the connections: who was with who, who would stab the other in the back before the month was up, who was nervous or who was too cocky for their own good. He read people… flawlessly.”

You tilt your head a little, letting memories bubble up in your mind. “I idolized him as a kid. He was everything I wanted to be. He got all my parents’ attention, and I knew that, but I basically didn’t mind because he deserved to be the favorite, that’s how awesome he was. Does that make any sense?”

“What changed?”

You sigh, and the sadness in it almost cracks your chest open. “Kids… see what they want to see. They want to believe their brothers are their own personal knights in shining armor. That they can do no wrong. I lived in that denial for… well. Way too long.”

“My parents played a part in that, I think. They tried to hide the worst of it from me. If he was gone for three days and I asked where he was, they’d say he was just staying with a friend. When he came home high or drunk he had the flu or food poisoning, and I had to stay away from him because he might be contagious. I think deep down I knew something was wrong, but I just ignored it. I loved him, I loved them. I walked on eggshells because I didn’t want anything to shatter this illusion we had built.”

You’re suddenly exhausted. Opening up these boxes, ones that are usually duct taped tightly shut and squeezed into some deep dark crevice if your brain, always weighs on your shoulders. Rather than going back to your chair you just sit down on the floor, letting yourself lean against the glass.

“One night, when I was- fifteen, maybe? I’d just started high school, I think. A bunch of his friends had come over to hang out and he invited me to join them.” You pause, swallowing a bit of nausea. “I was so excited to be hanging out with all his cool friends. They gave me drinks, told me I was pretty, made me feel so grown up and important. But I started feeling… weird, after a few hours, so I wanted to go to bed, but they made me stay. I remember sitting on the couch and just… spacing. Staring at the wall while everyone talked around me. It took me forever to notice the hand on my leg.”

You can physically feel the intensity of Loki’s gaze ratchet up to twenty. When you look at him, his green eyes are sparkling dangerously. He knows where this is going. You wish he didn’t.

“It turns out one of his friends had a bit of a crush on me. He started, you know. Rubbing my leg, tucking my hair behind my ear. I was zoned out but enough of me was there to realize something was… not good. Zach-” saying his name makes your heart sink a little- “Zach was on the other side of the room, but when I finally got his attention, he-” you close your eyes, like the scene is playing out right in front of you and you can’t bear to watch. “He just looked at me with this total… indifference, and he said, oh, he already paid, so. He can do whatever he wants. And he went right back to his beer.”

It’s been ten years since that night and you can still remember how the adrenaline set in, how it pushed through your body like lightning when you smacked the guy’s hand away from your bra and he looked at you with murderous eyes. “I was lucky that I’d only had one cup of- whatever they gave me. I was still mostly in my right mind. I said no, and the guy got mad and started screaming about how many grams of ketamine he traded for this, then went to confront Zach about it. This huge fight started- I don’t remember most of it. I’m pretty sure I was comatose by the time punches were thrown, but luckily everyone was too occupied to notice. One of the neighbors called the police, they broke the door down and arrested everyone, and they found fifteen year old me drugged up on the couch, talking in circles like I didn’t have a care in the world.”

Waking up in a hospital bed, remembering nothing, was terrifying. Having the memories come back one by one, at the police’s gentle prompting, was even more so. “I’m still not sure what they roofied me with. The nurses never told me. But I was in the hospital for a day or so.”

Some sort of self-deprecating, bitter laugh escapes you. “So yeah. My brother sold me for drugs, I guess. That was a fun one to handle at fifteen.”

“And he is dead?”

“What, planning on reviving him so you can kill him again? I’ll help.” That does soften Loki’s expression just a fraction. “Yeah, he was high and drunk on god knows what and decided to go out to some party. Ran a red light, took out a couple of cars with his own. The storm didn’t help much I’m sure.” Your fingernails dig into your palms, leaving crescent moons on your skin. “He dragged so many people down with him that day. Good people. People who didn’t deserve it. If he had just taken himself out I don’t think anybody would have cried, but- I guess he had a penchant for ruining lives up until the very end.”

“He deserves far worse than he received.” There is unrestrained rage in Loki’s voice, a fiery sort of protectiveness that would be scary if it wasn’t protectiveness over you.

“Easy, Trickster. He’s long gone. Though I’m inclined to agree.” You knot your fingers together. “I know it doesn’t excuse anything about what happened yesterday. I was- terrible. But I was just so jealous. You have a brother who would do anything for you, who loves you and cares about you, and- that’s something I’ve wanted for so long. I know your relationship with Thor is far from perfect, and you have absolutely every right to feel the way you do. I just think you’re blind to what you have, sometimes.”

Loki doesn’t say anything for a long time, and neither do you. Your words hang in the air between the pair of you, tugging on the rough edges of both your minds, wanting resolution. To your surprise, he gets up off his cot and comes to sit in front of you, mirroring your cross-legged pose so that you’re face to face. It’s nice, if you try to forget there’s layers of reinforced barrier separating you. Absentmindedly, your subconscious paints a scene where you and he are sitting, talking, laughing- somewhere comfortable, somewhere there’s no pressure, where you could take his hand and let his thumb smooth over the scars on your palm.

“Gods are not impervious to mortal plights. We love, we war, we hate, we hold petty feuds and retaliate against the ones we love. We are not always things to be worshipped or revered- quite the opposite; I believe many of your myths regarding us are what you mortals call cautionary tales.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, am I in the midst of hearing the one and only Loki Laufeyson admit that he’s not perfect? Should I be recording this?”

“Hush, Witling, I am trying to help. My point is, if even the gods are not perfect, you cannot expect yourself to be.” Loki taps on the glass right where your heart is. “There are no apologies necessary. I have endured far worse by the hands of people who would never think to be remorseful for their actions.”

You frown. “That doesn’t make it okay. You still deserve common decency.”

“You were hurting, badly. My only complaint is that I was not able to be of more use.”

“I don’t know, you made a pretty good verbal punching bag.”

You’re treated to an exquisite eye roll, but it’s balanced by the fond smile on his face. “Yes, well, do try to not make it a large habit, darling. I am quite fragile, you know.”

“Fragile my ass. According to field reports you got ground-pounded by the Hulk multiple times and walked away with a bruise.”

“A very unpleasant bruise! Have you no sympathy?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Shoulda thought about that before you angered the jolly green giant.”

“I beg your pardon, absolutely nothing about him was jolly.”

You have to giggle at the miffed expression on his face. “It’s an expression, Trickster. And it’s not my fault you have no self preservation skills.”

“And here I thought you were on my side.”

He says it jokingly, but something about his words tugs at you the wrong way. “I am on your side.”

Loki stops and looks you in the eyes, startled by your sudden sincerity. “There is no need to throw your lot in with the enemy. Mine is not the team you wish to be on.”

“Agree to disagree, I suppose.”

He looks at you for a long moment, gaze digging into your head to seek out all the little things you aren’t saying. But eventually he just nods, conceding. “I suppose we shall.”

A/N: Happy Thursday! Apparently I missed national fanfic/fanfic author’s day, so here’s a belated celebration :D

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zinniapetals · 7 years

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okay so what about oikage + "should you fall asleep, i will sneak over to you and write on your face" :D

SO sorry for the late response! But I could have gone the easy route and done Oikawa doing this to Kags, but no, I like Oikawa suffering. thanks so much of the prompt! I hope you like this little drabble!

Kageyama yawned once more, eyes watering and jaw aching from the drawn out motion. He was exhausted and the heat coming off the kotatsu combined with late night b-rated horror flicks made a perfect recipe to knock out. He reached over the table to grab a handful of popcorn, lazily shoving it in his mouth as he mechanically chewed.

“Hey Tooru, how do these aliens know Japanese if it’s their first time visiting earth? That doesn’t make sense.” Kageyama asked, waiting for Oikawa’s response, huffing when he received nothing. “Tooru? Why do these aliens-”

He turned to stare at his boyfriend, the whole reason why he’s forcing himself awake, eyebrows twitching in annoyance when he saw the brunet sprawled out on the floor, legs comfortable intertwined with his under the kotatsu, drooling a bit.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Ok, maybe Kageyama did get a bit too into this movie to not even hear the soft snores coming out of Oikawa but it was Oikawa’s idea to stay up and binge eat and quote have fun like they used to unquote.

Kageyama gently maneuvered his legs out of the kotatsu and crawled over to where his boyfriend was sleeping peacefully, resisting the urge to shake him awake to finish the rest of the movie with him. Instead he stroked the top of Oikawa’s head, reaching for the remote to turn off the tv, and got up, gathering the half filled bowls of snacks that littered the table. Once he threw all the trash away, including Oikawa’s personal quart of ice cream that melted and had no hope of being saved, he returned to the living room, wondering how he was going to get Oikawa to their room without waking him up.

He leaned against the wall, scanning the living room when he saw a marker that was next to their calendar. Well, Oikawa did say that he wanted to have fun like they used to, and Kageyama vividly remembered the multiple times that he woke up with random drawings on his face. He walked over to the coffee table, grabbing the marker and uncapping it, wondering what exactly should he do to Oikawa.

Oikawa woke up with a loud shout, images from his dreams quickly fading as he tried to recall what in the world scared him so much, knees banging the top of the kotatsu and neck instantly aching from sleeping wrong. He carefully backed out from under the kotatsu, frowning and grumbling at the fact that Kageyama didn’t carry him to their bed.

“Tobio?” He called out, stretching his back and wincing at the tightness his felt all over. He rolled his neck around, walking through their house as he searched each room for Kageyama.

He stumbled into the bathroom, still sleepy, snorting loudly when he saw himself in the mirror. There was a sloppily drawn naruto on his right cheek and lopsided triangle on his left, which he assumed was an onigiri due to the tiny rectangle drawn near the bottom of it. He also noticed that his eyebrows were much darker and drawn in very messy, almost coming together as a unibrow but not quite and there were tiny lines underneath his eyes which could have been eyelashes or just random shaky lines, he wasn’t too sure. There were tiny stars near his chin and he had smudge marks across his nose from where Kageyama must have dragged his hand over.

Oikawa walked back to his room, grabbing his phone and went back into the bathroom, snapping a picture to his story with the caption, drawn by a four year old or a twenty four year old? The world may never know. He sent a video to Iwaizumi, mostly of him complaining at Kageyama’s lack of artistic skill and another video to Kageyama saying that he appreciated the sentiment but he does it but better.

He recorded turning on the faucet and one last snap of his face; captioning it, it was cute while it lasted. He bent down and washed his face, reaching out for the towel that he knew was by the sink, eyes closed, and dabbed his face dry. He tsked at the mirror at the lack of damage the water did to the black ink and grabbed a random face wash, lathering it between his hands then onto his face.

He huffed louder this time, realizing that the ink barely faded, and was going to wash his face again when dread filled his stomach. But there was no way right? After all, his boyfriend wasn’t that much of an airhead right?

No. Oikawa knew how much of an idiot Kageyama could be as he raced into the living room, searching it until his eyes landed on the marker that laid on the table. He slowly reached for his, hands shaking and his heart quickly raced.

Permanent marker, fine point.

Oikawa briskly walked back into the bathroom, pressed number three on speed dial and waited. In their room, Kageyama’s phone went off which meant that wherever he went, he forgot his phone.

He tried one more time, hoping, praying, and begging for the drawings to wash off. They didn’t. He groaned loudly at his now red face and the drawings that seemed to mock him. He lifted his phone, and sent another snap to his story; this one captioned, it didn’t come off. It’s permanent marker. Pls help.

#@eleasofia #oikage #lizwrites #!!! i hope u like this!!!#@tooruoikawas

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ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

[MF] This is the Last Story I Will Ever Write About You

I wrote the story twice over the course of two years. The two versions, although the same story focusing on the feelings associated with anxiety and depression, could not have been more different. The first time I wrote it, the story which I destroyed, took me a year and 310 pages of writing to complete. I shredded the entire manuscript a week after I finished writing. Ten months later, I tried writing it a second time, although I found I had little to say on the subject matter the second time around, and produced a pitiful eight pages to show for nearly two years of my life’s work.

Regardless of length, the story I wrote in both was a story I felt I needed to tell, and accordingly, the first and second versions befell the same creative hurdles. Both stories featured a boy as the main character; I imagined him as being between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one, and I never managed to give him any name beyond “The Boy.” When I began writing the story the first time, I stalled attaching a name for my character, and filled in all the instances where his name should have been with “The Boy.” I hoped the story’s completion would inspire me to overwrite the placeholder with a natural and fitting name for my main character, but I found that as I continued writing, my internal list of possible names continued to shrivel and dry: when the manuscript was complete, the character still remained “The Boy.” And when I rewrote the story, I forwent the formality of naming completely, and the placeholder stuck.

How the story should end was another delaying pitfall of my writing. When I began writing the initial draft, I had intended to end it with suicide. I wanted to make the reader--as it made me--sick, and I had the perfect ending line stored in my head: “He ran to the cliffside for salvation, and to be swept away by the riptide.” As a writer, I cherished my closing lines, as I think many writers do, since these linger and flutter in the reader’s mind the longest, but as the months spent filling pages of story slipped past, the line which I had saved fit less and less; constantly displaced by modifications to the story. The tone of my writing eventually shifted towards optimism, so I redirected my search for an ending towards those of unadulterated happiness, only to quickly realize how inappropriate it would be for the story I was writing to end in such a storybook fashion. It would be insincere to trivialize the healing process of depression. To write an abrupt and clean ending would dismiss everything which I had spent years writing about. Yet I kept writing, and finished my story without an ending in mind. And when I got to the end the first time, the proper ending line for the story still eluded me. So as filler, I wrote a line which both represented my search for the true ending as well as described the boy’s recovery:

“It’ll take some time, but I’m willing to wait.”

It didn’t take much time for me to decide to shred what I had written; about two weeks in comparison to the fifty-two or so I spent writing it. The shredder devoured a year in a few minutes. And afterward the shreds slipped away like sand, found their way into recycling receptacles, and I was happy. Despite throwing away a year of work, I was happy that nobody would ever read the story I had written.

I destroyed my writing because it was too personal.

Without intending to, the story I had written was my own. The details were different, and the boy certainly overcame more hardships than I ever did, and was tougher on himself than I ever was, but I could recognize myself in the boy. And it took me a long time to realize it, but I never named the boy because it would be like giving myself another name. His thoughts were my own, and I in my story, I had inadvertently laid out my own insides. I had begun writing at my lowest point, and the story’s existence was a reminder of the two years I spent too scared to move. Now that I stood on the edge of the passing storm, thinking about my story was like looking at the aftermath and seeing what I lost. I now know that writing it probably saved my life, but it was a relief when I shred the worst part of my life.

I did not want to be reminded:

Of what it felt like to want to disappear.

In the ensuing months, I didn’t think much about what I had done, and the thought of writing a second version never occurred to me. And life moved on. Then the school year ended, and I wasted my summer sipping coffee and listening to thrifted records. And once it was over, school started again. And the months moved fast. One winter morning, I sat in my bed reading when I noticed the frost which clung to my window and was struck with a sudden pang of loss. I had split from the boy: I could no longer remember the virulent loneliness which he had endured. I was no longer the same person as the one who wrote that story, and all I could recall was a vague feeling associated with a distant memory of winter. And while a part of me was relieved me to have forgotten the worst of it, in shredding my story, I had suggested an end. It wasn’t the end the boy deserved--him being the part of me which had defined my life so much up to this point--tossed away and forgotten. Only because of him can I write the sentence: I am still alive. And even though his existence had been confined to the pages of my story, the boy was very much real to me, and I had forgotten about him. Now I decided I would set him free. I drew a blank page of lined paper and began to write his story--my story--again.

He walked down the icy sidewalk back to his apartment. Class had been the same as every other day. Nothing had happened that day, just like nothing had happened the day before, and the day before that. Life seemed to have left him behind. The boy felt nothing except tiredness. He hadn’t slept in weeks.

He was ready to give up. He’d been ready to give up for weeks, and now, mid-stride, the boy stopped moving. Tired of fighting, his body had stopped in rebellion. His urge was to lie down on the sidewalk as if it were his grave, but instead, he did the only other thing he could think of: place one foot in front of the other and count the passage of time. In repeating this simple task, he could keep going for a second longer, and if he could keep going for a second longer, he could go on living for another second, and so on. He counted a second. And then another. Then he placed one leg forward, and was tired beyond belief, with tears swelling his vision, but he took another step.

When he reached the front of his apartment building, his vision swayed. The blood rushed to his head and he felt as if he were going to pass out, and was forced to sit down on the steps. His heart pumped rapidly in his throat, and he gagged from nausea just as a similarly sickening thought threw up into his mind. It was a poisonous thought that promised a quick and unholy end which interrupted and suppressed him as it still sometimes does in my own mind. I did not write it down.

As I wrote in my bedroom, I heard the click of my own front door. I panicked. The thought of being torn from my writing to deal with raucous housemates and miscounted rent checks and cleaning arguments would truly be the end, and my moment of remembrance--the last contact with my past--would be severed. My handwriting became sloppy and illegible, and in my panic, I snapped the pencil I had shaved to a dull point. Reaching for another to replace the broken writer, I tore the paper and allowed my writing to flow out of the page. And as the writing flowed through my room, I rushed to the story’s end, trying to patch together a conclusion from the broken pages and memories which only partially made sense. He would see that he had survived. It wasn’t the poignant and thoughtful ending which I had envisioned, but the dread of being interrupted from my compulsion to write made any ending seem sufficient. So I wrote.

As I tried to erase the paragraph I had just written, smudging the lead which had seeped off the pages onto my hands, I heard the seal to my writing break with the squeak of the doorknob. Swiveling around in my chair to confront whichever housemate determined to bother me, I was struck to see The Boy, who I recognized as my own, framed by my doorway with a surprised look on his face. He was my own creation, slipped from the broken pages of my story, but he didn’t look like me; I had imagined him as looking better than me; being better than me. He was beautiful but he didn’t know it.

“Oh, I… I must’ve walked into the wrong apartment without thinking... mine must be the one next door... I’m sorry.” The boy stammered. I wanted him to stay, so I said:

“No, no, please stay for a moment. I could use someone to talk to for a few minutes.”

“Oh... okay.” He said nervously.

I sat there in my boxers, my body turned in an awkward fashion towards the boy. He stood expectantly, waiting to for me to speak. He made an uncomfortable noise. At that moment, all I wanted to do was hold him and stroke his head. Stricken, I didn’t know what to say except I wanted to let him know how much I loved him; how much he was loved; so I blustered out:

“You’re not a waste to anybody.”

He looked confused but thanked me nonetheless. I looked down at my feet, too embarrassed to make eye contact, and angry at myself for making such a strained and bumbling attempt to comfort him. I reminded myself that he did not know who I was. After a moment, he gestured vaguely to the space behind me, and must have seen the writing materials, because he asked:

“What are you writing about?”

“It’s a story about a boy. I’m in the middle of the story, but I haven’t really thought of an ending to it yet.”

“How long have you been writing it?”

“I started years ago, but I destroyed most of what I had written for it, so I’m starting again.”

“You weren’t happy with your work?”

“No, but the more important thing to me is that I keep writing.”

“That’s good. I just picked up writing myself.”

“What do you write about?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll probably write some about my life experiences. I’ve been having kind of a tough time and I’d like to put it into words.”

“I tried writing about myself for some time, but I didn’t realize how harmful it would be to my own health. It was a way out of the worst part of my life, but eventually, it was what kept me from moving on. I kept coming back to it because it was what defined me, and writing about it felt like I was reliving it.”

“I’m sure it hurt.”

I smiled sadly.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“It helped you though, right? When you needed it most?”

“Writing saved me. I’m trying to move on though. I want to feel whole again. My work reminded me of that period of my life, so I shredded it: to put it another way, cliche, I know, but I guess I’m trying to ‘let go of my baggage.’”

“I see. I’m hoping that writing will save me too.”

He paused for a moment, clearly afflicted with a feeling I knew too well. The sad hope of someone nearly resigned. I studied his face. I knew this would be the last time I would see him, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. It was as if the space between us, the space between my desk and the door, was expanding faster than I could sustain. Traversing that space with sentences and words seemed to take an increasing amount of energy. Eventually, there would be a critical moment when they would never reach the other side. I remained silent and waited for him to continue. When he did, his voice came from a distance:

“Listen, I’ve got to get back to my apartment. Thanks for talking to me for a bit, and thanks for the advice; if that’s what you would call it.”

Now my words barely reached the boy:

“No problem, and... could you close the door when you leave, will you?”

“Yes. And thanks. Again.”

The boy replied as he left the room. I watched the door shut and when I heard the latch bolt click, I turned around to face my desk again. Looking down at the page I had been writing, I recognized that the story, the one which I began writing simultaneously year ago and earlier that morning, was almost complete, except it still needed the last sentence which would conclude the last two years of my life. I sat very still for another moment, thinking, and afflicted by the overwhelming bittersweet swells of my body that seem to accompany the endless growing pains of my life, it came to me. Suddenly, I whirled around.

“This is the last story that I will ever write about you!” I yelled through the closed door, but he was already gone.

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