#ineedsleep

[brambledeggss]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Another tober now it's time for bed lol

[tehoris]

Come over and sleep

I won't say no to that my dear!

[amourdeleon07]

"What did I do wrong?" - A flash fiction

Two posts in a row?!?!?!? I'm pretty sure I'll be posting daily for a week and then ghost Tumblr until I have a new one finished because I already have a bit in store but I'm having author's block atm!! I hope you'll enjoy this just as much as my first one, and if you haven't seen it then go check it out!!!

Warning: MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE AND SELF-HARM. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!

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How many hours has it been? How many hours have passed ever since I've promised myself the slumber I crave and longed for? 

This is the umpteenth time where I sit at the edge of my bed, staring into nothingness as I drown in my thoughts. Ever since ‘that’ happened, I have been having trouble sleeping, 'I probably have insomnia' I chuckled to myself. The silence is deafening in my ears but it comforts me as I battle my own thoughts. 

Where did I go wrong? Why did that happen? Could I have been better? WHY didn't I expect THAT? WHY didn't I CONTROL IT? WHAT DID I DO WRONG? 

... 

‘Calm down, please.' How pathetic, I'm begging myself to calm down? Unbelievable. I bit my tongue, stopping the tears in my eyes before it fell. 

Gosh, it really is something else when you're forcing yourself not to cry, telling yourself that everything is okay when it isn't. This has to be one of the worst feelings mankind has to go through.

Can this please stop? I don't want this to continue anymore. I want to sleep, I'm tired but I'm wide awake, I don't feel like sleeping but I know I need it. But…

How do I even stop my own thoughts? How do I stop ‘that’ from playing in my head over and over and over again? 

... 

I have to stop myself from doing that, don't I? So, how do I stop myself? 

... 

What if I grab something sharp and... 

“stop” myself?...

Oh, my wrists look really pretty right now. It could use a few slits to make it even prettier, watching the blood seep through the open wound and drop unto the cold hard floor and…

No. 

What am I doing? Thinking of ending my life because of a minor inconvenience?

... 

I really need to stop, but this isn't the first time I've had thoughts like these or had similar situations like this. This isn't the first I've thought about cutting myself open and leaving myself to bleed. This certainly is the first time I stopped myself from doing so. New Achievement Unlocked! 

... 

Why am I like this? Is this why ‘that’ happened? I wouldn't be surprised if this is why that happened.

Sighing to myself, I got up and went to grab a glass of water, quenching my thirst. Placing the glass on top of the coaster, I once again stare into the abyss. 

What am I doing with my life? I'm a failure, aren't I? Will I ever do anything right? Will I ever make myself proud? Will I ever make ‘them’ proud?

Thinking about all of this makes my head throb. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I exhale deeply, trying to collect myself.

…

I can’t sleep like this. I feel restless. I want to sleep, I know I need sleep, but I just can’t. So do I just sit here and suffer alone with thousands of thoughts running through my head every second?

…

How many times do I have to spend my night like this? How many times do I have the same conversation with myself? I can’t let this continue. 

Something has to change. I have to change for the better. 

It has to.

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I'll be posting another one tomorrow!!! Stay tuned!!

[the-hidden-pages]

Misread Affections - Laszlo Kreizler/Fem!Reader SMUT

I started at midnight. I had 0 words. It’s 4:30am. I have 4643 words because I have fallen deeply for Doctor Laszlo Kreizler. Forgive me for this.

Synopsis: With all your history together, you and Doctor Kreizler believe you understand each other. Yet when you believe him to be infatuated with Karen Stratton, and he believes you to have affection for Marcus Isaacson, you’re both stunned when you find yourselves to be proven wrong.

Warnings: NSFW. Desk Sex. Dirty Talk. Patient-to-Friend-to-Lover. Definite depression and general self-loathing.

SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND SEASON!!!!!!

You had always admired the man Doctor Laszlo Kreizler was.

He championed those who could not champion themselves. He worked tirelessly to understand the minds of criminals. To those very same criminals, and many others that lived as outcasts to society, he would offer kindness and understanding. At his best he was beyond intelligent and, daresay, sweet.

At his worst, he was ruthless, and his own self-loathing would have him come across as unempathetic most days. While preaching to others to care for himself, he would often forego his own care. While offering an ear and a receptive mind, he would refuse to offer himself the same.

You knew this within mere days of knowing Doctor Kreizler. And such facts made you rather fond of him.

A fondness that was not helped by his handsome build, his dark locks, his scrutinizing gaze.

And yet no part of you could justify ever acting upon this fondness.

You had come to him both as a patient and a colleague. You had always been aware of a darkness within yourself, ever since you were a child. This darkness had only grown, too often all-consuming, leaving you. a dysfunction wreck of a human being. However, you had an obligation to keep going, a promise you had sworn to your sister to continue your own existence. So, exist you did.

While your family’s fortune wasn’t enough to send you to Harvard, like the Doctor himself, it did allow for you to be a reasonably educated woman of the times. A deep fascination in understanding your own darkness led you to the work of alienists, and eventually to the work of Doctor Kreizler.

While you couldn’t often justify breaking societal rules to such an extent, you found yourself motivated enough to call upon the Doctor with a proposition – should he aide you in understanding your own illness of the brain, you would offer any services you could to the Kreizler Institute.

You could tell he was curious of you. A woman of your standing did not often make such demands with such authority, nor so blatantly admit to her own illnesses. He quickly agreed, eager to study why you considered yourself so damaged, and happy to take on an extra set of hands with the children he looked after.

Over time, you begun to slip effortlessly into Doctor Kreizler’s life.

You met the likes of Cyrus and Stevie, along with many others that worked at the Institute. You were then blown away by the strength within Miss Sara Howard, and the pure, undiluted love that Mister John Schuyler Moore could show others. You were even called upon on several occasions to be a fresh set of eyes, the murders of young boy prostitutes and kidnappings of babies not deterring you, to the surprise and reluctant joy of the Doctor.

And as Doctor Kreizler studied you, you studied him.

You slowly learned of all the emotion he kept hidden behind the façade of professionalism. The kindness, the love, the anger, the fear. While he showed none of these most days, occasionally a concoction of such feeling would burst in an overwhelming outpour.

In offering him a platonic safe space, a place for him to talk through such outbursts should he wish, he in turn aided you.

The darkness you felt for so long began to subside some days, and between the efforts of him and a passing remark from John, you learned of an outlet for your darker thoughts – writing.

While expressing your own emotions and turmoil did not come easy, you found it far simpler when written down on paper, as opposed to spoken aloud to a judging room.

Doctor Kreizler gifted you a beautiful leather-bound journal a mere day after this revelation, with the request that you record your thoughts. He promised he would not read it unless you requested him to as an act of therapy.

For many days, you allowed him to read any thoughts that came to mind.

Thoughts of blood, of death, of pain and anger. Thoughts of a stolen childhood, of worthlessness, of longing.

Many days when he read your pages, you would be silently crying as he did, fearful of his judgement. But it never came.

Instead, he would close the book silently, and offer you professional advice.

One particularly rough day, in which your narrative was beyond vicious to you, he closed the book before finishing, and offered you something you didn’t expect – an embrace.

He hugged you so tightly, that for once…

Your inner monologue ceased.

His own, however, raged on.

How could you think so lowly of yourself, he wondered? While he could understand mindsets built from trauma, he couldn’t help but wish you could see yourself through his own eyes. Your empathy when you cared for the children in the Institute. Your intelligence when conversing with Miss Howard. Your artistic delight when laughing with John. And the perspective, the warmth you offered such a broken man such as himself.

Neither of you knew, in that exact moment, that the other was realizing the fondness you both held in your hearts for each other.

And neither of you knew how truly broken the other felt at their core.

Two souls, believing themselves to be undeserving of love, finding it in their hearts for the other.

When the beautiful, cunning Doctor Karen Stratton entered the picture, you asked Doctor Kreizler to refrain from reading your journal.

He was hurt by this, but profession and courtesy claimed that he could not show it.

You began to withdraw from him, placing your entire focus on the case of the stolen babies and your focus on the children in the Institute. Kreizler, in his own difficulties of potentially losing the said Institute, took notice of your own withdrawal from your sessions, but held enough hope that you had found stability to care for yourself. You still conversed with Sara, you smiled with John. You had even been introduced to the Isaacsons, and he had wondered if you had taken a liking to Marcus.

You deserved a young man such as him, he told himself, heart heavy. A whole, young man with enough strength to support you.

And on the night of Marcus’ death, he believed it to be confirmed.

He found you alone, in his study where you so often had your sessions with him. You were curled inwards on yourself, clutching your journal as though it were your lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably.

He moved to console you, arms holding you tightly.

“It’s all too much,” you choked out, unable to articulate much more.

 Doctor Kreizler nodded, waiting for you to be able to go on.

You regained some breath with difficulty. “I just…I can’t stand to lose a friend. Not after everything else lately.”

 “I know how difficult it can be, to lose one you love…” Kreizler began, not noticing how your sobs stopped in confusion. “After Mary, I…Well I swore I would never again…The point is, I-“ he stopped short.

You had spluttered out a laugh.

 Your hand covered your mouth immediately, noticing what had just happened. You immediately moved to cover it up, wiping away your tears and standing up away from him. “No, no, Doctor. Heavens, Marcus…well, he was loved but, I saw…I see the Isaacsons as brothers I never had. He was dear to me but…not in the sense I suspect that Mary was to you.”

 “I…see…” Doctor Kreizler pulled back, sitting in his study chair as he gazed at you. “Apologies, I seem to have misread your relationship. Nonetheless, his death has greatly affected you, as it has all of us. I suspect it will be a very difficult grieving process, but…” he manages a soft, rare smile that warmed your heart. “We will endure it together, as we have these cases.”

“Will we?” your voice grew empty as your thoughts swirled.

He titled his head, unsure of where this was leading. You gathered your courage to question him.

“Rumour has it, Doctor Stratton has asked you to join her in Vienna. I wonder if you’ll go.”

 Silence falls over the room.

 Laszlo couldn’t understand what this had to do with anything. Your crying, your distress over Marcus. What did his leaving have to do with any of your distress?

 “You’re greatly upset by something,” he eventually said, gazing at you with a more analytical eye than before. “I’m afraid you give me too much credit, if you think I know the specifics of it.”

“I-“ you stopped, clearing your throat as you choked up. Your knuckles turned white on your journal’s edges, hands shaking. “Doctor Kreizler-“

“It’s been months since we’ve known each other,” he interrupts, “and we haven’t held a session together in nearly five weeks. Would it pain you to call me Laszlo? Are we not…friends?”

You gaped at him, but his face remained unreadable.

  You shake your head. “Yes, it…it would pain me. It would pain me a great deal, Doctor – it does pain me a great deal to hear you call me a friend when…”

“When what?” he prompts you sharply, and you inhale quickly.

“When I feel I’ve been dishonest with you, unkind to you…” had the room not been dead still, Laszlo might have missed the next words you whispered. “I feel I’ve been perverse to you.”

 If he was confused, he didn’t show it. And you were talking now, the words spilling out, a cascade unable to end.

“I feel as though…had Marcus not…died…tonight, I might never have done this. But then my mind, it began spinning so quickly I couldn’t stop it, and I couldn’t help but imagine countless scenarios in which Libby, in which the Dusters, in which…well, in which any number of causes might take your life as well. In which you might die before…before I can confess…” You huff, your words getting caught once again. With a determined move, your arm shot out to pass your journal to him, and Kreizler takes note of a particular page being creased.

 He looks up at you, but you don’t meet his eye.

“I’ve marked where I want you to start reading. Just…go from there. Inform me when you’re finished.”

You walk over to the window, desperate to be distracted, as Doctor Kreizler opens the book and reads at your request.

           He can’t comprehend what he’s reading at first.

           While he had grown accustomed to your twisted perception of yourself, he hadn’t realized just how ruthless the self-loathing could take you. Endless doubt of your friendships with the team, with your position as a caretaker, in your abilities to be a friend.            And as words continue, he realizes your doubts in being a partner, a lover.

           If he grows flustered at the words he reads, he’s determined not to show it to you.

           He reads your envy of women like Sara Howard, able to move forward with such strength and certainty, and of Karen Stratton, so brash, so forward. Your envy is strong towards her, in her abilities to understand sexuality, passion, human desire, and in…

           In her connection to himself.

           His eyes widen as your own ramblings seem to uncover a truth you hadn’t explored before – your attraction to the Doctor that had aided you, offered you employment. The pure taboo of such affections, yet your inability to stop it. Your adoration, your admiration for the intimidating, raw man that he was. How you felt unworthy, that you would hold him back, that he deserved a woman as delightful as Doctor Stratton, a woman who could stimulate him academically, that could pleasure him physically. How you felt so deeply ashamed of harbouring such elicit fantasies of the man that had been nothing but kind to you. How you loved him so deeply it made you want to die, because you would never be deserving –

           You heard the journal snapping shut, and you couldn’t bring yourself to face the Doctor, knowing what he must’ve read, dreading what he must now be thinking.

           The silence lasted far longer than you would’ve liked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

           “I find myself taken aback more often than I like,” Kreizler’s voice shatters the still air. “I believe myself to be so wise, so understanding of the mind, and yet I come across a mind such as yours that I…I truly cannot fathom how you think what you think.”

           “I’m sorry,” you start, voice breaking as tears begin to flow again.

           You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand on your own. You don’t dare to turn around, frozen like a rabbit having been sniffed out by a hound.

           “You think me to be attracted to Doctor Stratton, am I correct?”

           You nod. Of course, he was. Was it not obvious?

           “Karen and I are colleagues, and friends, should I be too bold to assume so. I can recognize that she is a physically beautiful woman, yes, and I’m sure some day she will make a man a very happy husband, should she wish. But her and I have a kinship, a partnership, not unlike what I believe you and Marcus might have had, that I too misinterpreted as love.”

           You sniff, closing your eyes tightly. What was he trying to tell you?

           Doctor Kreizler spins you around slowly, leading you to face him.

           “I do not harbour half the affection in my heart for Doctor Stratton as I do for you.”

           You freeze. “Doctor-“

           “Please,” he reaches up to cup your face, wiping away several of the tears that had fallen. “Please call me Laszlo. You are not the only one to have an epiphany after the loss of our friend, my dear. If you are being so honest with me, I feel it only right to offer you the same.”

           “Laszlo…” you whisper, meeting his eyes for the first time since he read your words. His heart breaks with the pain within them. “How can you do this? Look at me, hold me, when you see how broken I am? I’m undeserving-“

           “You would choose to love, to care for a cripple, a shell of a man in the eyes of society. A man who has too often neglected the children he cares for, often spat in the face of those he dares to call his friends. If either of us is undeserving of the other’s love, my dear, it’s me.”

           Your brows furrow angrily, reaching up to mirror him, cupping his own face with both of yours. “Laszlo Kreizler you stop that right now, I won’t hear any more of…you’re smiling. How could you be smiling?”

           He leans into one of your hands affectionately, a rare, dashing smile lighting up his features in a way you cherished to see, despite the circumstances. “Perhaps we are both wrong. Perhaps…perhaps we need each other, to use each other’s eyes and hearts to understand who we truly are. We both have such lowly opinions of ourselves but…perhaps it was meant to be.”

           Your own smile was beginning to form, despite your best efforts, as your brain’s screaming of all that could go wrong began to quieten.

           “I hesitate to believe in fate, Doctor…” you trail off, taking a step closer, your heart filled with hope and eyes filled with wonder. “I hesitate further to admit to needing someone, and yet…my brain is only ever kind and quiet when I’m around you.”

           Laszlo’s weaker arm rests on your hip, while the thumb of the hand caressing your face moves to trace your chin. “My language is not as…poetic, as yours, my dear,” he confesses, and you both chuckle, “but I very much would like to kiss you, with your permission.”

           “Laszlo, you could do anything to me,” you confess, reaching forward to finally meet his lips.

           It’s messy, and uncoordinated, but any lack of experience the pair of you may have is made up for by the pure, electric eagerness that overtakes the both of you. You’re both exploring, testing each other, in some give and take dance that does not seem to quell any emotions within you, instead quite the opposite.

           You could kiss him forever, you quickly realize.

           But by some cruel twist of fate, you have to pull away, air taking priority.

           You stare wildly at him as he breathes heavily, eyes darker than you had ever seen, with a sense of uncertainty that you hadn’t ever seen about him before.

           A teasing smile finds its way onto your face, as you can’t help but test your luck.

           “How far, exactly, did you read in my book?”

           He blinks at you a couple of times, uncertain of your line of questioning. “I read of your jealousy, of your shame, I don’t…I don’t believe I finished it all, I found I had to address the issue before I continued –“

           “Would you like to know what else was in there?”

           Laszlo appeared flustered as you led him back to his plush chair, and you knelt down between his legs to pick up the book that had fallen to the ground. You don’t offer it to him, however, instead putting it aside.

           “My dear, I don’t –“

           “I ask you to stop me, if my advances are too…forward to you, Laszlo.”

           You slowly rise from your place, moving to lift your skirts so you might position yourself above the Doctor, straddling him in his chair. As if on its own accord, his good hand rises to situate on your waist tightly. You gently grasp his weaker hand, his “broken wing”, and lift it to your mouth, delicately kissing the palm, each finger.

           Laszlo mutters your name, transfixed by your mouth’s movements.

           “I would love every part of you,” you begin, continuing your assault of affection as you whisper against the part of him, he views as most broken. “I would care for you in every capacity in which I’m capable. I would strive to be deserving of you in every which way.” You drop his hand and lean forward, hands grasping the back of the chair as you hold his gaze. “I would have you claim every part of me, I would have your marks for the world to see, if you wished. I’ve dreamt of you and I in the most compromising positions that I dare not say, on nearly every surface of your study, my bedroom, the Institute. I would give you every single piece of me, Laszlo, every ounce of my attraction. I would give you my darkest sins and my deepest pleasure, if you would allow me too. Please, Doctor Kreizler, let me please you.”

           You didn’t know what you were expecting from your confession.

           Perhaps you wondered if he would push you away, exclaiming that your desires were too much, your words too sinful, and that he would cease associations with you immediately. Perhaps you thought he would scold you for being too wanton, too unbecoming of a woman of your standing. Perhaps you hoped the worst that would happen is he would kiss you softly and instruct that you both go to bed in separate rooms, that more carnal needs could be discussed at a later date.

           Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to feel Laszlo shift and harden beneath you, eyes growing so dark they were nearly completely black, and have him reach his hand to curl around the back of your neck.

           And you certainly didn’t expect the deep growl that escaped him as his lips, tongue, and teeth clashed with yours frantically, animalistically.

           Neither of you had experience, you both knew this.

           But you both knew what you wanted, what you needed, and that would be enough to motivate you.

           You both took what you could, Laszlo leaving your lips to reach what he could of your neck, lavishing it with lips and tongue. He explored expertly, quickly learning what you liked based upon the quickening of your breath, of your pulse. What was left of his analytical mind was fascinated by the chain reaction of events, how you spurred each other on.

           When he nipped at your ear, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and a rough groan escaped him unconsciously.

           Fascinating indeed.

           He panicked slightly when you stood, wondering if he had stepped too far. The panic raised as you strode across his study, heading quickly to the door.

           “Wait, my dear, I-“

           “Calm down, Laszlo,” you hushed him, and he heard a loud click of the door locking from where he sat. “I merely don’t wish to be interrupted. If this is still what you wish.”

           He leans back in his chair, breathing heavily, observing you as you stand once again before him. “I should be asking you what you want, my darling.”

           You grin, shaking your head. “Was my speech before not enough for you to know what I want, Doctor Kreizler? Can you not infer exactly what I want from you from the writings in my journal? It’s your turn to share, else I might just leave you like this.”

           His good hand involuntarily juts forward, grasping yours desperately.

           “Don’t you dare.”

           You giggle, and he smiles at the sound.

           “Then, tell me what you wish, Doctor.”

           “I wish…” he trails off, watching as your hands move upward to begin slowly undressing yourself.

           “Yes?” You prompt him teasingly, continuing your motions. “Don’t mind me.”

           Laszlo shifts in his chair, erection clearly visible by the bulge in his slacks. “I…I wish…” his voice trails off again as his eyes take in every inch of your skin that’s uncovered. “I wish to be with you in every manner. Intellectually, spiritually, physically. I wish to connect with you in a way I never will with any other living creature on this Earth. I wish to feel you around me, to bring you to climax. I wish to fill you, to be yours, to fuck you, to make you Mrs. Kreizler…”

           He stops at that, only becoming aware of his own ramblings you straddled him once again, completely nude.

           The faintest voice in his head wondered if you made him stupid, but it was silence as his eyes took you in completely.

           “You are the most gorgeous specimen I’ve ever been graced with seeing, my love.”

           You pull him in to a languid kiss, gently tasting each other as your hand travels down his chest.

           “You speak of love, of my being Mrs. Kreizler…” you start, almost losing your train of thought as you feel him twitch beneath you, your hips rolling to meet his. “Another day I’ll ask you to remind me of those words. But for now…” you lean forward, mouth grazing his ear, causing him to shiver. “I need you to fuck me, Doctor Laszlo Kreizler.”

           For all of your faith in him, you don’t expect the next feat of strength.

           With only his good arm he manages to lift the pair of you from the chair, quickly placing you upwards and onto the desk of his own study, mindless of the papers underneath you, of any others that might be in the building as you shriek in surprise.

           He captures your mouth with his, more forceful, captivating, as his good hand explores your form, grasping both of your breasts before heading downwards to the warmth between your thighs. His fingers collect some of the wetness that had escaped your folds and examines it with an almost mocking scientific fascination.

           “Is this all for me, my darling?” he questions, and you find yourself at a loss for words as he curiously lifts his fingers to his mouth, his tongue slowly tasting you off of them.

           “Fuck, Laszlo,” you whisper, reaching forward to pull him in for a kiss again as he chuckles darkly against you.

           His teasing ends when your hands wander downward, now working at the buttons of his slacks frantically, your palm grazing across his length through his pants, causing him to gasp.

           “My God,” he pants out, and you pull him out of his slacks. He’s hard, warm, rigid in your palm, with veins and girth that you hadn’t imagined in any of your fantasies, but was now all you could imagine filling you, ending that emptiness that you felt.

           “Please,” you whimper, and he gently removes your hand, before lining his cock up with your entrance.

           He meets your eyes, checking one last time to ensure this was what you wanted.

           “Laszlo, please –“your begging is cut short as he breaches you slowly, pushing his full weight forward as the pair of you connect.

           It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

           A tantalizing combination of pleasure and pain, your mind repeating an endless mantra of “Laszlo”, which you realize, when he’s fully inside, flush against you, that you’re muttering out loud.

           “Oh, my love,” he breathes, his damaged arm lightly resting on your thigh, his other gripping your hip so tightly you knew there would be marks.

           “You feel so right,” you mindlessly breathe, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of him twitching inside you at the comment. You would remember that he likes praise, but…

“I don’t know that I will last long, my love,” Laszlo warns, his voice low, gravely, warm against your neck as he buries his face into it, pressing kisses into the skin of your shoulder.

It crosses your mind that you’re completely nude and he’s fully clothed, but the thought fills you with warmth rather than disappointment.

“Nor will I, but this will happen again, won’t it?” you question, a hint of doubt crossing your voice.

The Doctor silences it immediately, kissing you deeply. “Every night, every hour if you would let me, my darling. You are so wonderful…”

“Then please, fuck me Laszlo. I want to cum, I want you to fill me, I – oh!”

The first snap of his hips was relentless, and it was only more intense from there.

He was strong, sure of his movements, chasing his own pleasure and encouraging yours as much as he could, pressing kisses into your neck, your breasts, your lips, his good hand finding your hair tightly. Broken moans left you as dark, rasping breaths escaped him, and it was all too soon before you felt your peak approaching, familiar with the sensation from lonely nights with your own hand curiously working against yourself.

“Laszlo, Doctor Kreizler, I-“ at your moaning of his title, something in him snapped, and his teeth sunk into where your neck met your shoulder.

A deep cry left you as you reached your climax, a white-hot rush waving over you.

As your cunt clenched around him, Laszlo lost himself, growling his native German tongue as he lost his rhythm, heat filling you as he came.

You two didn’t have much time to come down from your highs, as the door to his home could be heard opening and closing from the floors below.

“Doctor Kreizler?” Sara Howard could be heard calling.

Your eyes wide, you rushed to put yourself back together, close wrinkled, roughly thrown back on and your hair being a wreck. You hoped you could pass it off as merely the result of a rough day, an intense mental break.

You turned to Kreizler, who was a picture of perfection, seeming to not be rattled by the events before…almost.

           “Back to the case…?” he trailed off, his voice filled with uncertainty, and you smiled fondly at the terribly awkward, intelligent man before you.

           You step forward and kiss him softly, the warmth between your legs and bruises on your thigh a reminder of what had just occurred.

           “Back to the case. We can continue our escapades when it’s all over, Doctor.”

           He chuckles, confidence returning to him as he nods. “I look forward to it.”

[clairvoyance7465]

SBI Home Alone AU

Merry christmas! Here are some drabbles of an AU i brainrotted while watching this movie with my family this holiday

enjoy!

so, 

SBI is going on a trip, because Phil is a great dad who loves his sons, they’re going to Florida for Christmas and that is that. He pack’s up the car, he yells for his sons, he's gets in the driver’s seat and he's ready to go to the airport for a tropical christmas goddamnit Will I swear to god if you complain about the time one MORE TIME-

Of course, the flight is at like 4am. Because Why Not. And Dadza is Tired TM, so he's trusting his boys to get their shit in the car.

His only thoughts upon leaving: coffee, drive, Florida, cool.

None of the Craft’s like mornings, they get to the airport, they get through secuirty, they're boarding the plane. The energy is off, its 3:30am, they're just doing their best to survive the crowded airport. Security and things are a little wild, whatever, they get through.

Phil turns periodically, doing a headcount of his 3 boys.

Tall and brunette. Check.

Tall and pink. Check.

Tall and - wait, where was tall and blonde?

Phil panics for just a moment, before he sees a blonde tuft peek out from behind Wil’s shoulder, he’s wearing a purple hoodie, he’s right there, and he lets himself relax.

This continues on all the way to the gate, and somehow, miraculously, they arrive just in time to board.

The Craft family joins the single file line, they each hand the hostess their tickets and they’re on their way.

Finally, they’ve boarded the plane

Phil booked 6 seats for the four of them because they're all tall bastards who need the extra space, two entire rows just for the 4 Craft’s.

Techno sits, Phil slides in after him, Wilbur is moving into the row behind them. 

Phil and Techno are already reaching for eye masks, while Wilbur is digging through his carry on for his earbuds.

Earbuds in hand, Wil sits, he instinctively turns to smirk at Tommy, knowing how annoyed he’d be at not getting the window seat

When he realizes:

Tommy is not getting into the seat next to him, which means,

Tommy could be stuck in an airport terminal, lost,

Tommy could be in a cheesy airport gift shop, forgotten,

Tommy could have fallen out of the plane while they were boarding-

Where could he be? Phil had been keeping an eye on them all, right? Oh god, did they leave him in the bathroom? Where the hell is Tommy?

He reaches for Phil’s shoulder, shaking the already half-asleep man.

“Wha- Wil what the fuck, it’s four o’clock in the morning go to -”

“Where is Tommy?”

That shut up Phil’s complaining pretty quickly.

Cue frantic discussion between the three of them as to when they last saw him, Phil looking around frantically, until he sees a tuft of blond hair towards the back of the plane.

Phil is almost relieved, until the blond turns and Phil sees his purple hoodie and oh christ that is not Tommy how long has that not been Tommy -

And then, what feels like mere seconds later to Wil’s exhaustion-addled mind, the plane takes off

Without Tommy.

Little do they know, Tommy is asleep at home, snuggled up with his stuffed cow, dreaming of whatever the fuck he dreams of, oblivious to the situation his family has put him in.

Later, Tommy is waking up at a reasonable 9am on a Saturday to a strangely quiet, albeit messy, house.

Everyone's suitcases are gone, Tommy is incredibly confused, and in all of his ~14 year old genius he decides that they've simply vanished into thin air. Obviously. Which is fine, because they were all bitches anyways (especially Wilbur, honestly, fuck that guy, amiright)

SO he spends the day doing shit he should not be doing, touching Wilbur's guitar and Techno's fencing equipment and Phil's prized miniature model of an underwater sea temple.

He’s fine, really, he’s pretty sure he’s not even going to miss them that much.

Meanwhile, the rest of his family is frantically trying to get back to Tommy, Wilbur especially, how the hell could they have just ditched him, Phil is a bad father, oh god, oh no, oh god- (he and Tommy probably also had some stupid fight he’d currently beating himself up over)

It's christmas, flights are booked, Phil is going full Karen on some poor ticket clerk, and then Wilbur bumps into a group of rather interesting people who are traveling by bus (IE Jack, Niki and Fundy), headed towards where SBI lives, so naturally Wilbur decides to hitch a ride with them

There is only room for one, so Phil is like "we'll keep trying to get a flight, you get back to Tommy"

And Wilbur goes off on his adventure with his new friends

Back in SBI's neighborhood, a strange string of robberies have been occuring

No one sees the perpetrator enter or exit, almost as though they're teleporting in and out of the house.

Police are wary because the items being stolen are oddly random. They have no idea what these thieves are planning, most of the things they take aren’t even that valuable.

All they know about the thieves is that one is freakishly tall and the other is oddly short

So, while our dear Tommy is home alone (and without a smartphone, this is the 90s) he hears a noise at the back of the house.

He's kinda dumb, sure, but he's seen the papers, he knows his area has been targeted by burglars

So naturally, he looks for the source of the sound.

Cue a very tall masked figure (halfway climbing through an expertly picked window), seeing Tommy and immediately diving back out of said window and high tailing it away.

Tommy decides that since his family is gone and he is now, officially, the biggest man in the house, it is his job to keep their residence safe.

He sets up the fake dinner party and spends probably too long talking to the cardboard cut out of the queen he put in the window.

The burglars lay off, but the next night they tried again, only this time Tommy was waiting for them.

Tall bitch steps on an ornament under the window and the guy is once again running for the hills, Tommy is cackling, these guys are stupid.

Tommy, in all his great wisdom, decides that this means war.

So he booby traps his entire fucking house.

To the nines.

And then waits.

(Wilbur has become quite good friends with the bus people, Techno and Phil are chilling in a hotel waiting for a flight)

That night, he hears two voices coming from the back door, and instead of just the one really tall figure, he sees a shorter guy too

Cue booby trap chase sequence

Short thief keeps making incredibly graphic threats while tall thief is just trying to steal shit (eventually his goal is just to get out of this, this kid is fucking insane)

Short thief is getting more murderous by the second.

(Also, both of their faces are completely covered, Tall Thief with a mask and sunglasses and Short Thief with a ski mask)

They fight all night, tall guy gets hit with all of the booby traps because short guy triggers them and then runs.

Tommy finally has them caught.

He pulls off their masks scooby doo style and has a moment of "what the fuck, you are children, hi, why are you robbing me"

Short Thief is pissed, Tall Thief is terrified and Tommy has so many questions.

Tall Guy says “fuck it, so we're very poor and we ran away from an orphanage and we've been stealing to survive, also I am Ranboo and this is Tubbo”

and Tubbo is pissed that Ranboo told annoying blonde dude anything, but they're kinda stuck now

Ranboo is certain Crazy Guy is gonna call the cops, Tubbo is ready to bite things, the tension is real.

However Tommy's gears are turning and he's looking at these kids that he just has a lot of fun torturing and he makes a decision.

These kids are freezing, the only thing the tried to take was a radio and food.

So he offers an olive branch.

He had a ton of fun tormenting them, but it’s Christmas and his family vanished into thin air and he’d rather not decorate the christmas tree alone.

(At this point, Tommy’s ready to admit that he maybe misses his family, A little bit. Sort of.)

So they stay. Ranboo tries to make them dinner but after the fourth mention of putting spaghetti in ham honestly ranboo its ham please put the spaghetti away-

The trio put up and decorated the Craft’s tree, they wrap things they found around the house to give to one another, they watch cheesy movies, Tommy likes these guys, and they like him when he’s not trying to kill them.

The house is kinda trashed, and now that they know Crazy Blonde Guy is actually nice, the young thieves feel kind of guilty (read: Ranboo feels guilty and is bothering Tubbo about it), so they all help clean up the disaster they made.

The night’s been disastrous, but it’s been a bonding experience to say the least. Tubbo and Ranboo have full stomachs for the first time in a long time, and Tommy’s happy he’s not alone.

When Wilbur gets home on christmas morning, it’s  to a strangely tidy house (especially considering that Tommy had been alone and that kid is a walking tornado)

Wil is calling Tommy's name, running up to his room, but Tommy isn't in his bed.

He starts running around frantically looking for Tommy when he hears shuffling from Phil's room.

Where he finds three teenagers, two of which he does not recognize, one of whom is covered in bruises(?), all sleeping on Phil's massively large double king bed

(they wouldn't all fit on Tommy's, and naturally they couldn’t all sleep alone; the windows are broken and its cold Tubbo cmon)

Wilbur lets out a sigh of relief, pulls the covers over the boys and resigns himself to asking about it when they wake up. Niki, Jack and Fundy are in the living room, because they’re all besties now and they’re gonna spend Christmas together.

Phil and Techno get home shortly after Wilbur, they make sure Tommy is okay and they meet the boys’ new friends.

When the boys wake up they'll explain what happened (and the broken window), the guest room will become a bedroom and the robberies on their street stop suddenly. Strange.

The End

[midsummermoon20]

:) I made a sim, and I’m obsessed :)

[marshmeleesstuff]

Tubbo smol..

Ranboo tol...

Meet irl (REAL)

[siancore]

Fuck this.

Fuck that.

Someone hit me in the head

With a wiffle ball bat.