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queenoftodd · 4 years ago

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Dinner & Its Capitalist Agenda (Jason Todd x Female!Reader)

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Summary: Reader is dating Jason and accidentally wears vibrating panties to the first dinner with the Batfamily.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,278

Warning(s): Smut (fingering, penetration), Swearing.

Note: The idea for this was inspired by the film “The Ugly Truth”. If you want to be added to a taglist feel free to message me.

This was not how this night was supposed to go. How would you ever overcome the undying humiliation of tonight? You had been so excited to try on the gift that Jason had gotten you, that you didn’t bother to ask why the new lingerie came with a remote, one that you tossed in your clutch to ask him about later. This was also partly due to you rushing out of the house to Jason’s car, because you were both very late. Add that to the list of poor first impressions that you would be making on his family.

The two of you had been dating for almost six months now, and while you had met Dick and Jason’s best friend, Roy, you still hadn’t met the rest of his family. There really wasn’t any reasoning behind this, you both had very busy lives. Both of you set on making the world a better place by exposing Gotham’s corruption. You were an up and coming journalist for The Gotham Times, while Jason was a--well he told you he was a military contractor for Wayne Enterprises, but you always do your own background checks. You sort of stopped digging after the news headlines saying that he was dead, if he wanted to tell you then he would tell you. Besides, you were too in love with him to care.

According to Dick and Roy, his family has been dying to meet you. You had to admit that you were nervous, but determined to make the best first impression that you could. You would be meeting Bruce fucking Wayne. Despite the assurances that Jason gave you that Bruce was a regular guy, you still could not contain your excitement. Both as a journalist, but also as a longtime resident of Gotham. Vicki Vale would have a field day with you. You had even begged Jason to help you pick out something to wear that would both suit his sexual fantasies, but be modest enough to meet his father, and Alfred Pennyworth. Caretaker and grandfather-adjacent.

Of course you had decided on a crimson cocktail dress. Just enough opening in the chest to give Jason the perfect eye-view of your cleavage, but not enough to make you feel uncomfortable to meet his family. Jason didn’t want to bombard you with all of his family just yet, especially considering that you didn’t know about his vigilantism. So he strictly requested that the guest list at tonight’s family dinner only be anyone legally adopted by Bruce Wayne (and Damian of course).

This came to the rundown of everyone that would be there tonight. That was expected to be there tonight, at least. Jason did warn you that their jobs tended to keep them very busy, and his family might be called away to handle their respective responsibilities. You understood this of course, you were very familiar with being on call. Especially in Gotham.

Dick Grayson was a former Detective in Bludhaven, and you had met him at least three times over the course of being with Jason. Tim Drake worked at Wayne Enterprises and did something corporate-wise that Jason didn’t care enough about to explain it to you. Damian Wayne was the only biological son of Bruce Wayne and was currently in his senior year of high school. Jason informed you that he could be a smart-ass and bluntly rude. The last one that would be attending was Cassandra Cain. Jason said that she didn’t talk very much as she was raised to be mute, and only spoke in small increments when comfortable.

Your mouth gaped at the sight in front of you. The grandiose gate before you held all the secrets of wealth within the “W” centered in it. You could feel his blue eyes on you, your face was a mixture of emotions. Nervous, excited, and--did your underwear just vibrate? You shake the thought away, blaming it on your nerves as you turn towards your boyfriend.

“You ready?” He asks, waving up to the security camera outside the gate as it opened. He glanced back at your soft face, unable to contain the smile he got from looking at you so in awe. You did not grow up like this, in fact your family had never had a house of their own. Seeing the mansion that the man you called your boyfriend had spent several years of his life baffled you. Of course you had seen pictures of Wayne Manor, but never did you think that you would be a guest. You reached for his hand, giving him an assuring squeeze as he continued down the driveway towards the manor.

When Jason pulled into the parking area in the front of the manor you could make out four shadowy figures standing by the curb. Your back instantly straightened when Jason came to a stop. “I told them to meet us inside.” He groaned, placing the car in park. You were thanking the heavens that the glass was tinted so that they couldn’t see into the car, because the butterflies were coming in swarms in the pit of your stomach now. Taking a deep breath, you turned towards Jason. A glare forming on your face when you notice his amused expression.

“Y/N, you look amazing, how are you?”

You opened your mouth to speak being interrupted by his lips on yours, silencing your thoughts. The feeling of his hand on your cheek as he pulled you closer. “Knock ‘em dead, beautiful.” His smirk sent a warm boost of motivation your way as he parted from you, and climbed out of the car.

After a few seconds of mental motivation, you followed suit, reaching for the car door handle when it opened for you. Jason standing at your door, outstretching his hand for you to take as you climbed out. You prayed that your smile wasn’t too awkward or seemed unhappy. Jason brought you over to meet the figures you noticed earlier. Dick was a familiar face, which eased you a bit as you pulled him into a small embrace.

“I’m great, it’s good to see you.” You beamed. You could already feel the eyeroll from Jason behind you. What could you say? You enjoyed any time you got to spend with Jason’s older brother. Next was Tim, who held a more shocked expression as he looked at you. Jason had to be the one to introduce him, as he was shaking your hand, but his mouth was hung open. “It’s nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Y/N.”

“You’re with him?” A laugh didn’t fail to escape your red lips as you dropped your handshake from Tim to press Jason back with your right hand, sending him a warning look before showing a gracious smile to Tim.

“For six months now, yes.” You giggle and immediately feel Jason soften at the sound of your laugh. Next their was Damian Wayne who glanced at you in a way that made you feel like you were under examination. “You must be Damian.”

One of his hands was cradling his chin as he took your hand, eyeing you quizzically before placing a kiss to your knuckles, your eyes widening. Now that was definitely unexpected. “Todd, I’m impressed. Now I’m done waiting here for you imbeciles, I’ll be inside. Y/N, pleasure.”

And with that he walked straight into the mansion without another word. Your eyebrows knitted together as you turned towards Jason, his mouth hung agape, along with the rest of his brothers. A tug on your arm made you realize you had almost forgotten someone. Cassandra. She was smiling at you, it was small, and seemingly shy, but excited? You extend your hand to her with a small smile and she takes it, her smile brightening.

“Hi Cassandra, my name is Y/N.” I gesture towards Jason. “I told Jay that you were the sibling I was most excited to meet.”

She shook her head pointing to herself and your eyebrows furrowed until she said. “Cass.” You nodded in understanding, repeating her nickname until she gestured to you. “Y/N. J-lover.”

You could see why everyone in this family was so charming and mannerful. The way he carried himself from the top of the stairs to meet you in the foyer echoed a confidence you could only dream of. You felt Jason’s hand squeeze yours and you mentally cursed at how clammy they had become. Bruce’s smile radiated the room, but you could tell by the way Jason tensed next to you that this was a rare occurrence. He had told you many stories of Bruce’s stoic--or in his terms, resting bitch face.

“Well...she’s not wrong.” You heard Jason mutter behind you, you smiled as she released your hand following Tim inside. That was when you playfully whacked his arm, before taking his head and walking up the steps to the manor’s entrance with Dick leading you two in. Upon entering the house, you entered the grand foyer. Greeted by a man whose face has graced many Gotham media covers and stations.

Bruce fucking Wayne.

“Y/N L/N.” Bruce grinned, extended his hand to shake yours and you met it with a firm grip. Tucking your clutch underneath your armpit. You swallowed your saliva as you shook his hand. Giving what Jason considered to be your breathtaking smile, beaming at Gotham’s wealthiest bachelor. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard great things.”

“Mr. Wayne, it’s lovely to meet you as well.”

A flex of your armpit sent a jolt up your cervix, catching you by surprise. This resulted in you jolting forward a bit, Bruce now shaking Jason’s hand, as they turned to you. You cleared your throat to throw attention off of the present fluctuation occurring by your pussy. What the literal fuck was going on? “Y/N/N, are you okay?” Jason asked and you nodded, already feeling your cheeks heat up. Running away to examine yourself before dinner was not a part of your goal to make a good first impression.

Removing the clutch from your armpit provided a relief from the sensual feeling emerging below. Bruce had excused himself to head to the dining room, when Alfred came to meet you both in the foyer, briefly as he was finishing up in the kitchen. He was excited to meet you, but he had to tend to something in the oven. This gave you a moment to turn to Jason.

“Are you feeling okay? You just jumped out of nowhere.” I nod assuring him, considering the feeling subsided, it shouldn’t be that big of deal to draw attention to.

“I’m fine, I think it was just the nerves.” You lie, wanting to find a better time to excuse yourself to the bathroom to sort whatever was going on with you, out. Unfortunately he can read you like an open book, but for the sake of tonight, he just pushed it aside to discuss later. You followed him to the dining room where everyone was already seated and you had gotten a seat between Tim and Jason. Dick was across from Tim, Cass was across from Tim, and Damian was across from Jason. Bruce sat at the head of the table between Damian and Jason and once Alfred brought the courses in, he was to sit at the other end near Damian and Tim.

“Oh Miss Y/N, let me grab your purse, I’ll put it by the coat rack for you.” You handed him the clutch with a small smile of gratitude as he left the room briefly before coming back to take his seat on the opposite end of Bruce. You thanked him as everyone was looking eagerly at Bruce. Judging by context clues, they were waiting for him to make the first move to eat. Once he began to cut into the steak dinner that Alfred had made, the knives and forks clattered around you to also begin their descent on their plates. You smiled lightly as you began to dig in yourself when a buzz whipped up your folds, making you tighten your grip on the fork and knife.

A gasp passed your lips as a pulsating throb began in your pussy. You could feel Jason’s eyes on you, growing concerned as he noticed you weren’t looking anywhere but at your plate. “So, Y/N.” You’re eyes fluttered to Bruce, hoping your breathing was normal as you shifted in your seat. “How did you two meet?”

You cleared your throat, focusing on the sentence. “Jason l-loves to tell this story, right Jay?” You practically moan, shoving several pieces of steak in your mouth to avoid speaking. “This is oh...s-so good..” Your boyfriend’s eyes widened at the sound of your moan. For some reason his girlfriend of six months was getting turned on at the dinner table in front of his siblings and he didn’t know what to do. Jason had to distract them, mentally cursing himself as he opened his mouth to speak.

“It’s not that exciting of a story. Dick, how’re things in Bludhaven?” This diverted the attention from you for a while while several whimpers fell from your lips as you squeezed your legs together. You couldn’t take this anymore. Jason placed his hand on your thigh leaning towards you.

“Why are you moaning?” That’s when it hit you. The lingerie, Jason had gotten you vibrating panties. Your eyes widened, gripping his arm tight as you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning into his ear, your breathing heavy.

“Fuck.” You moan holding tightly on his arm. His body shielding you from seeing Bruce or Damian. “Lingerie. I’m...s-so wet, Ja--ah!”

“What--you’re wearing them right now? Where’s the remote?” He whispered through gritted teeth. He was struggling to contain himself at the breathiness in your moans. Fuck, the remote, you gave your clutch to Alfred.

“Clutch.” You managed to get out, focusing on containing your breaths, your body felt so hot. There was no doubt that you were so close to your climax. Jason grabbed your wrist pulling you from the table, surprising everyone at the sudden action.

“We have to go. Thank you for dinner, Alfred.” He nodded towards the lovable butler. Then he nodded at everyone else, still shielding you from everyone. “Bruce, Dick, everyone, it’s good to see you.”

Without another explanation, despite numerous protests Jason rushed you to the exit near the coat rack where your clutch was, but it appeared to be open. Two feet away was Titus, Damian’s dog. He was chewing aggressively on the remote currently causing you to moan in pleasure. Your hand flying to your mouth as your knees grow weak. Jason steadied you by the door before wrestling the remote from Titus, who would’ve bit him if Jason didn’t move quickly. Jason shut the remote off, taking the batteries out for extra precaution as he handed you your clutch and rushed you out the door.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Jason put you in the car and he raced out of Wayne Manor, speeding down the street before pulling down a trail by the woods. Once he parked you turned to him in confusion before he pulled you into a kiss. It was heated and you could tell by his eagerness that he was just as horny. Considering that he cut your climax off before you could get there, so were you. You felt your dress skirt ride up as Jason pulled the troublesome panties down smirking against your lips at the feel of your soaked pussy.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he began to tease your clit, eliciting a louder moan. One you were grateful to let loose without worrying about his family. “Couldn’t let the panties have all the fun, now can we?” He huffed, moving his attention to your neck as he started on your neck. Sucking until his lips popped off your pulse, bound to leave a mark. He quickened his fingers pace, removing your panties completely as he inserted his ring and middle finger inside you. “Fuck me, Y/N/N. You’re so wet for me, huh?”

All you could do in response was whimper a small hum in agreement. Your vision was so blurred as his fingers fucked you deep in your soul. The car seat you were in flattened back, causing a laughter of surprise to fall from your lips as Jason climbed on top of you fully. You sat up to help unbuckle his suit. He had gotten all dressed up for you, a white button down tucked into some black dress pants and dress shoes that he had borrowed from Dick. His shirt was not buttoned all the way, exposing his chest.

“Y/N, fuck--you have no idea what you do to me.” And with that final thrust you climaxed, your eyes fluttering open as your body convulsed, releasing a warm euphoric feeling all over his cock, and the passenger seat of his car. You didn’t have a chance to catch your breath as Jason’s grip on your hips tightened and he continued to ram into you with this newfound stamina. His breath quickening and his moans of your name growing louder.

The belt was now somewhere else in his car, as he lowered his pants and boxers underneath you enough to ready himself at your entrance. You laid back down as he pumped himself, groaning as he was already so hard. It had taken you a few times to get used to Jason’s size, but now your pussy called itself the expert. You gasped, as he rubbed his cock up against your pussy, he smiled at the effect he had on you. How easy you unfolded beneath him.

You jolted back when Jason slammed into you, thrusting deep inside you. It didn’t take him long to find the right spot and stick to it. His grunts and moans harmonizing with your screams and gasps. “Fuck, Jay, oh--” Your vision began to blur as he picked up his speed, moving his hands down to your clit to rub it agonizingly slow. Thus increasing your pleasure.

You caressed his arm, looking up at him as you moaned breathily, “Come for me, Jason.” A look of relief flashes across his face as his own euphoria engulfs him. He pulls out of you, climbing over to the driver’s side partly to take a breath.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Y/N L/N.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe you wore those tonight.” You weakly smacked him on the arm as you pulled the car seat back into place.

“You bought me lingerie, you rarely buy me clothes--I got excited.” Your y/e/c eyes widened, looking at him, running your hands down your face. “Oh no! I totally ruined it tonight.”

He could tell you were upset, especially knowing how badly you wanted to make a good first impression. “No one noticed, I got you out before they did.”

“Are you sure?”

“I love you too, beautiful.��

“I’ll just tell them you were nauseous.” He shrugged, buttoning up his pants, gesturing for you to put your seatbelt on. “If they ask what happened.”

“I love you.” You say before leaning over the console to kiss him as he started the car again.

And Jason would tell you any lie you needed to hear in order to be able to meet face to face with his family again. Even if it meant making his siblings take a blood oath not to mention it. If they didn’t, there were always second impressions...right?

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bittydragon · 4 years ago

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Emotional Surprises

Notes: Psst, @baka-monarch. I love your headcannons and this story is based off the one with Phil adopting a shapeshifter Wilbur and a tiny Techno. Honestly surprised with myself that I didn’t write dragon dadza, but knowing me it’ll happen eventually. I love what you do and can’t wait for whatever you got coming next! I hope you enjoy this story!

Wilbur was panicking. He was just walking through the woods with his tiny brother tucked safely in his pocket when he heard someone else’s footsteps nearby. In his panic ridden state he had run in the opposite direction, hoping that whoever was there would ignore him.

He didn’t make it far when he felt a telltale tugging inside of him. He quickly dug his hands into his pocket and pulled Techno out. Techno squirmed and smacked Wilbur at the sudden grabbing but Wilbur only gave him a hushed apology as he set his brother in a small crevice at the base of a tree.

Techno stopped his struggling as soon as he realized what was about to happen. He begrudgingly hid himself in the crevice. Techno could only watch as Wilbur’s face scrunched up in slight pain.

Then, Wilbur began to grow. It was always a strange sight to see, especially from Techno’s perspective. Wilbur had very little control over his sizeshifting abilities and would often change size whenever he got a particularly strong emotion. In this case it was fear, which normally results in a growth spurt. And since Techno was only a few inches tall, watching Wilbur grow larger than a human was a terrifying scene.

Sometimes, Wilbur will have slight control over his abilities and shrink down to properly hang out with Techno. Techno appreciated those moments. Having someone his own size around him was comforting. Having a literal giant around him was scary, but knowing it was Wilbur helped lessen the fear.

Wilbur’s growth spurt was over in around a minute. When they were unintentional they happened relatively quickly, but because of that Wilbur was disoriented for about another minute afterwards. Techno watched sadly as Wilbur rubbed his forehead, knowing he couldn’t help his brother at their current sizes.

Suddenly, the crunching of leaves was heard nearby. Techno froze and ducked into the shadows and he saw a man in green approaching the area. Techno realized in horror that Wilbur was too big to hide and was probably too disoriented still to realize what was happening.

“Hello? I heard someone, are you alri- oh.” Techno could only watch as the man looked at Wilbur in shock. Techno knew from first-hand experience that seeing someone bigger than you was a terrifying experience. And this man did have a slightly terrified look on his face. Techno hoped that meant he would just run away.

Instead of running away however, a strange mix of concern and determination replaced the fear, though it was still showing in the way the man slightly trembled.

“Mate? Are you- are you alright?” The man didn’t move as he asked the question. He did flinch when Wilbur suddenly moved his hand down from his head, finally having a hold of his bearings again. And if the man took a step back when Wilbur’s gaze finally landed on him, neither of them mentioned it.

“Wha- me?” Wilbur moved to point towards himself, confused on why the man was trying to talk to him and not running away. He only received a mute nod in response.

“Yea, uh, I’m alright. This just happens.” He stared at the man on the ground. Wilbur really didn’t know what he was doing and was terrified that the man would look at the tree Techno was at and find him. Techno did not need that on top of Wilbur’s growth spurt.

“This just happens? What just happens? Getting headaches?” The man looked truly confused at this point. Wilbur was just as confused. The headache was just a small side effect of him growing, which was the bigger issue here-

Oh. This man didn’t see Wilbur grow. He just found a giant, disoriented boy in the woods. Suddenly everything about the situation was clearer in Wilbur’s mind. One glance at the man showed he was still thoroughly confused.

Without thinking, Wilbur reached out for the man. His hand paused mid-reach as the man stumbled backwards, his eyes blown wide and the panic returning tenfold. Wilbur realized his mistake as the man began to breathe heavily in his panic. He could do that with Techno because they knew each other and had years of trust between them. He only just met this man.

The man stumbled backwards again and tripped over his own feet, landing on his bottom. He was still hyperventilating at the fact that Wilbur had almost grabbed him. Wilbur felt extremely guilty and wanted nothing more than to help. He couldn’t at this size though.

Wilbur took a deep breath and focused. He closed his eyes and willed himself to shrink back down. He knew that this didn’t always work but it was worth a shot in this disaster of a situation.

When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself at his normal height. He took a step towards the man before glancing at the tree where his brother was hidden. He pondered for a moment before making up his mind and going over to the tree and kneeling down. His brother quickly came out of the crevice and Wilbur was quick to scoop him up and hide him in his pocket. If something went wrong and he had to run, he wanted Techno to be with him.

Then Wilbur made his way towards the panicking man who now had his head between his knees, still breathing heavily. Wilbur noted that the hat that was previously on the man’s head was now discarded in the grass. He knelt down in front of the man and hovered his hands around him, apprehensive about what he should do next.

“Can I, um, touch you now?” The man whipped his head up at the voice and was surprised to see Wilbur as the same size as himself. He turned his gaze to see the hovering hands and the look of pure regret on Wilbur’s face.

He nodded and couldn’t help but smile at the relieved look on Wilbur’s face. Wilbur took the man’s hands into his own and began rubbing small circles on the back of his hands.

Wilbur was startled when the man suddenly let out a bark of laughter, his eyes wide once more. But this time it seemed less from panic and more from realization.

“You can change sizes. That’s what just happens sometimes. Mate, that makes a lot more sense. Well, not really. But it clears this situation up, that’s for sure.” Wilbur smiled at that and let out a small breath of laughter as well.

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. And I’m sorry for scaring you like that. I wasn’t thinking when I did that.” The man smiled and unfurled himself a bit more. Wilbur looked at him confused before the man reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. Wilbur was shocked for a moment before adjusting himself so that Techno wouldn’t be squished before tentatively returning the gesture.

“Mate, I probably would have done the same thing. It was super scary and if you grow like that again, I’d like it if you didn’t just grab me. But you’re forgiven, kiddo.” Wilbur pushed away from the hug and held the man at a small distance so he could look him in the eyes.

“You say that like there is going to be a next time.” The man laughed and stood up. He reached a hand out, which a confused Wilbur took, and the man pulled him to his feet.

“Sorry. I got ahead of myself. First things first, my name is Philza, but you can call me Phil. Secondly, do you have a place to go? Or would you like to come live with me? I got a nearby cabin and I just thought-” Phil stopped when Wilbur barreled into him and hugged him once again.

“Yes! Yes please! Anything is better than living in the middle of nowhere!” Phil smiled and pat Wilbur on the head. He jerked his head to the side in a silent ‘follow me.’ Wilbur trailed behind Phil as they began their walk.

“I’m Wilbur, by the way.” Phil smiled at him and they continued on their walk in silence.

Eventually, they approached a small cabin among the trees. Wilbur gasped in excitement and he could feel Techno shift in anticipation for a new place to explore. Phil smiled fondly at Wilbur and began walking towards the cabin.

He threw his gaze over his shoulder with a soft smile.

“Welcome home, Wilbur.”

---

As time passed, Wilbur became increasingly comfortable in Phil’s home. It had come to the point where Wilbur had accidentally called him Dad. He remembered Phil freezing in place and staring at him before tears began threatening to fall. Wilbur will never forget the happy smile or the tight hug that followed. And if Wilbur began calling him Dad more often, nobody said anything.

Phil was a caring person and wanted the best for his new son figure (could he call Wilbur son now? Wilbur did call him Dad). He began helping Wilbur get a better grasp on his shifting abilities to the best of his abilities. He himself was no sizeshifter, but it was easy to see how Wilbur’s emotions affected his shifting.

With enough time, Wilbur began changing size at his own will more often. He would still have random bursts of change, but they were much less often than before. Those bursts are actually how Phil found out Wilbur could also shrink to a few inches. It was very strange holding Wilbur in his hands.

Techno however, had still not formally met Phil. When they first moved in, he and Wilbur both agreed that Wilbur would try to get to know Phil and determine how trustworthy he was. It would be like it was only Phil and Wilbur in the house, so if Phil had other intentions behind his actions they would appear in due time.

But it had been some time now, about two months to be exact. And Techno was beginning to wonder why they ever had their doubts about this strange man. He treated Wilbur like a son and even did his best to help Wilbur control his shifting. Techno had tried to help years ago, but emotions were not Techno’s strong suit. Phil however, managed to get Wilbur in a better place and helped him control his abilities better.

He had finally decided that he was ready for Wilbur to show him to Phil. He knew this would be strange. He has kind of known Phil for about two months now while Phil knew nothing about him. Going from living undetected in the walls to revealing himself would be a major change. Wilbur was the only other person who even knew Techno existed. Well, there was that one kid but who knows where he’s at now-

He was startled out of thoughts as soon as he heard Phil approach Wilbur. Techno was currently nestled in Wilbur’s hair, the fluffiness being extremely comfortable. But he was as nervous as Wilbur was. This was about to test the trust they had with Phil, this could change everything in Wilbur and Phil’s relationship. Techno knew Wilbur held him over Phil, but he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that Wilbur wouldn’t help him if something went wrong.

Wilbur took a shaky breath and Phil looked at him worriedly. Phil stayed quiet though and waited for Wilbur to say the first words.

“Dad, I, um, have someone I would like you to meet.”

Phil raised an eyebrow at Wilbur’s shaky statement. He was clearly confused and about to voice his confusion when Wilbur reached his hand into his hair and gently grabbed hold of something in there.

His confusion changed to shock as he realized that Wilbur just pulled a tiny boy out of his hair. He watched as the tiny boy situated himself so that he was sitting on Wilbur’s palms and facing Phil.

Techno was terrified. He was now out in the open in Phil’s line of sight. He tried to read Phil’s expression but he couldn’t really tell what was going on in Phil’s mind.

Techno and Wilbur both tensed up when Phil took a deep breath. Wilbur seemed ready to run if anything went wrong and Techno was ready to hide in his pocket once the moment called for it.

“So, there’s two of you?” Techno shot a confused glance towards Wilbur, who seemed just as confused at the response.

“Yea. My twin just doesn’t change size like I do.”

“Well, I guess I have two sons now!”

Techno couldn’t help the relieved smile that found its way onto his face. He couldn’t believe that he doubted Phil for even a moment. Phil had nothing but happiness painted on his face as well, the prospect of having another son being rather exciting to him.

Phil reached out a finger towards Techno and Techno instantly grasped it with his own hands, noting this to be a handshake right away.

“I’m Phil, but you probably already knew that.” Techno smiled at the man in front of him.

“Name’s Technoblade, but please just call me Techno.”

“Good to meet you, Techno.”

Techno never thought that he would feel safe with anyone but Wilbur and that damn kid from long ago but now he had Phil. He knew he would have to go over some of his boundaries with Phil, but he knew the father figure would understand.

This family was going to be worth it.

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softomi · 4 years ago

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inevitably

prompt: Honestly for a while I was okay with seeing you, but for some reason it pained me to see you. It pained me to feel like I missed you.

pairing: akaashi x reader

genre: angst

When Akaashi was left alone, he felt indifferent. He continued his daily routine; coffee in the morning, cab ride to work, home late as usual, heating up dinner in the microwave. Nothing was that significantly different, he tried to reason. The lone toothbrush, the single towel, the sudden emptiness of the bed, he reasoned it wasn’t significant.

Even when his friends came knocking on his door on the first weekend in a while, it was nothing significant.

“How you holding up?”

It was like they were trying to beat around the bush, he wished they could get straight to the point.

“I’m fine.” Akaashi spoke, “It’s just a break up.”

The men in the room stared at him. Bokuto tried to laugh it off, patting the male on the back, “Right. Nothing we all haven’t gone through before.”

“You went through it the worst.” Someone interjects.

Akaashi doesn’t pay mind to the way Bokuto’s face falls at the statement, banter is thrown around the room, but Akaashi can’t focus, repeating in his mind that it truly wasn’t a big deal. We all go through it. He stated in his mind.

It was fine for a while. He was fine for a while. There was no reason for him not to be fine, in fact, how could he not be fine when there were no traces of you. Perhaps a lingering hair or two, but he noticed how you did a perfect job of erasing your existence that you were ever physically living with him. It helped with the moving on process, to feel like you were never there at all.

But yet, at two weeks after, he somehow found himself on your social media page. You, who was addicted to posting all the fine things in life, had not posted in days. It was shameful, as if he were expecting you to mention him in some way. It was so shameful, so he decided to mute your posts.

“Akaashi.” Bokuto was watching his friend pick at his food, “Are you sad?” Bokuto had no filter, “I feel like if I were in your situation, I would be sad; or at least frustrated! Don’t you want to cry or something? Maybe get mad!” Bokuto’s fist accidentally pounds on the table, “Akaashi.”

Akaashi felt it would be out of character if he did that. There was no reason to cry because you had given him sufficient reason to leave him, he had no reason to get mad because all your reasons were valid. Everything you had said that day was so valid, that he couldn’t argue.

“Bokuto.” Akaashi pushes around the food on his plate, “I’m okay, there was nothing I could do to stop her.”

Bokuto noticed the way Akaashi slumped, he knew the signs of his friend, Bokuto switched the topic to his next volleyball game. Akaashi wasn’t listening, he was too concentrated on how he accidentally ordered your favorite dish; he couldn’t tell the waitress or Bokuto that he made a mistake.

Two months passed slowly but he was still as fine as ever. To prove it, he unmuted your social media. He noticed how you had gone back to your everyday posts. But he was good, pleasant in fact that you were getting back to normalcy; you were back to how you were without him.

“Would you like to get some coffee with me?” The girl in front of him, he had never noticed her before.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Akaashi was trying hard to recall her.

Her smile falters, “You helped me with an article last week.”

Now he remembers her, she wore the same earrings as you, it was one he had picked out randomly when you asked for his opinion on earrings. Truly the most mundane activity you had him do with you, but it was worth the smile on your face when you wore it every day for a month.

“Sorry.” Akaashi says to the girl, “I’m meeting someone.”

He was lying. Akaashi was granted a leave early from work, feigning an important event, he let out a large sigh when he exited the building. He loathed the thought of going home and he was craving something sweet. He took a cab to a bustling neighborhood. He doesn’t know the exact location, he just knows the cues.

The stationary shop that sells Hello Kitty stickers, you bought a set just to stick one on his briefcase. The ramen restaurant, it was one of those single seat restaurants with the option to eat with someone if you chose to let down the divider; you really wanted to try it with him. The bookstore, you two browsed individually, but you had the hardest time trying to drag him out after three hours.

He reached the café.

It was quiet, but who besides him would go to a café midday on a Wednesday. It was still the same, of course it was, you had only left him three months ago. The only thing that changed was your relationship status with him. He’s still okay though. It doesn’t bother him.

This café had the best fruit cake. Out of habit, he ordered two.

“One, to go.” He had to backtrack.

He remembers how the tea paired nicely with the fruit cake. The tea provided a nice bitterness to the sweet cake.

“Keiji?”

When he looked up, he saw you. The way you clutched your bag nervously, a smile on your lips as one of your hands waved to him. Did you look as beautiful as you did when you stood next to him?

He invited you to sit with him, it was a kind gesture he thinks, contrary to how he must have been when dating you.

“Wow.” Your hands clap together, “What a coincidence that we ran into each other here.”

Coincidence. He remembers you used to be a lover of fate but seeing him was only a coincidence.

“You grew out your hair?” Akaashi points out.

You grip the ends of your hair, a small laugh, “Actually I got extensions.” Your fingers run through your hair, “Just wanted to know what long hair felt like.”

Akaashi always stated he liked shorter hair on you, but the way your hair now falls long; he absolutely loves it, “It looks good on you.”

Your eyes light up, “Really? I was scared it wouldn’t suit me.”

It’s perfect on you.

“How are you?” He knew it was a stupid question. He planned many questions he would ask you if he ever saw you again but the simple how are you had never been option.

Your hand flipped your hair behind your shoulder, a grin on your lips, “It’s been good.”

He suddenly hated your answer. Weren’t you supposed to be sad? Was dating him perhaps so bad that you got over it so quickly? His fingers tightened against his cup, feigning a smile on his own expression to state he, too, was fine. How could he not, seeing you was absolutely okay; he, too, felt no linger attachment.

Akaashi wasn’t even realizing that he was holding his breath until you left; and when he breathed out; air shaky, throat suddenly terribly dry, Akaashi felt every emotion he’s ever wanted to feel in the last three months. His heart cried, his blood pressure rose, his head clouded. He stood angrily, the chair falling back.

He abandoned the to-go box of cake as he left the café; footsteps following in the direction you went. He was finally going to do it, he was going to confront you because he was not okay. What you said about him did not make sense. Nothing was valid. How could anything be valid when you left his life like it didn’t matter.

He sharply turns the corner, his footsteps froze as he saw you; tucked with your knees to your chest, bending on the lonely sidewalk. Your hair caressed your face as you began to sob. Akaashi’s steps backtracked, peering over the corner to watch over your sad figure.

The cell in your hand rang, you stood to your feet, brushing off the streak of tears to answer, “Kou!” Your voice surpressed the urge to cry, “Right now? I’m not doing anything.”

Akaashi watches your figure walk away.

“Me?” Your eyes are staring to the sky, “I’m totally fine. After all, we all go through it.”

Akaashi turned on his heels, hands dug into his pockets as he also looked up into the sky. It was perhaps the worst feeling in the world, trying to feel okay when he missed you.

#haikyuu x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #akaashi #akaashi keiji #akaashi scenarios

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yasuda-anis · 3 years ago

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A Blessing for a Friend

One of my first released works for Anis, I wanted to give something to a friend of mine. To @writer-and-artist27, Vy I’m glad to have met you and I love your stories. I hope we can keep being friends for a long time.

As for what I listened to while I wrote this it’s Wonderful Future or Prekasno Daleko. Just cause I really like it and the mood got me excited. May your future be bright.

The heavy smell of bread blew into Anis’ face, fogging her glasses in a few seconds. It seemed that despite all the enchantments that Medea and others had placed on them for protection and preventing them falling off, some things could just never be avoided. Anis waited a few seconds for them to clear up, enjoying the rich scent of vanilla and almost drooling. But it was important that the last part be done right.

If she messed this up, the whole thing would lose more than half the impact. But the heat coming out of the oven was still intense enough that she hesitated reaching in, even with her gloves and apron. “Need a hand there Master?” A cheerful voice called out behind her before a large heavy paw settled on her shoulder. It was a familiar feeling, but something she hadn’t felt for a while.

“Thanks Tamamo,” Anis sighed as she stepped aside. “I’ve been out of the kitchen for a long time so-” “No problem, no problem Master!” She grinned as her tail whapped her master gently. “I see you when you come to eat everyday so I do see you. But this is certainly something new.”

Back in the days of Chaldea… that was - never mind. When she had first arrived Tamamo had been there for her. Making sure she ate, making sure she had someone to talk to, and more importantly, being there for the warmth Anis had been missing. Back then, Anis would always stop by at least once a week to be with her- to talk, be pampered, spar, or just to get some motivation. It had been some time since Anis had come back to see her. Cat had come to visit herself mainly. But that was enough of that. “It’s a bit of a special occasion,” Anis confessed, breathing in the warmth from the tray Tamamo passed under her. “I really wanted to do something for her.” The fresh pastry was then quickly flipped over into a small basket, the smell of vanilla a bit more muted now. Cat moved over to bring over the picnic basket and pack in plates, utensils and some drinks. Anis put on her gloves- made out of materials she was sure a regular mage would kill her for- and reached into a small box to pull out small clay figurines. She then cut small holes into the pastry and inserted them, quickly closing up the holes with nata. The figures had been a group effort between her, Medea, and Nito. Making them heat resistant and non toxic had been a bit trick, but according to Medea the materials were easy enough to come by. “All ready here!” Tamamo saluted with feral glee. “Now! Quickly before that other cat burglar comes in!” Anis had factored in anyone coming in to try and steal it. But even the best laid plans need to adapt quickly, she thought as she wrapped it up in cloth and shut it in the basket. But alas, the smell, however faint, still escaped the basket. She would have to hurry. Or else…

“I’m off then! I’ll be back later!” Aniis yelled as she started moving quickly to the door. She could run. But the chances she could trip weren’t her main concern. Gotta act natural. I have an important appointment! But too fast and they’ll catch on!

Tamamo waved her away with a handkerchief, calling out all sorts of fun jokes at her. Anis waved back and went off the hallway.

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

The hallways of Novum Chaldea were packed. The early days of an empty Chaldea faded in the first months, and Anis was used to wandering both in her old Chaldea and in this one like a metro station. Staff and servants moved in their flows- the main speed being kept except for a few who were assumed to just be beyond reprimand. Anis would normally be a patient walker, her pace easily adjusted to suit whoever she was walking with. Today though she wove and dashed through the flow, trying to minimize her impact by calling out warnings to those ahead.

Excuse me!

Pardon me!

Sorry!

Hi!

Sorry, a bit busy!

No problem, just gotta go!

Not right now thanks!

Oops! You good? I’ll make it up to you later!

Sadly though, the kids had caught her. As she expected. The child servants were always on top of any delicious snacks and treats in the base before the other two threats of Jaguar, who would demand them, and Ibaraki, who would never bother to ask and just take it. I lost 5 minutes to negotiations, but hopefully I can still make it on time! The kids had realized quickly what the occasion was, but demanded an equal treat and participation in one of their tea parties. Apparently, Mori was hosting this one as his first foray into western tea ceremony.

But there it was! The door to Vy’s room! With one of her servants waiting out front as usual. Today it happened to be Emiya and Artoria, or Art as Vy called her. The pair had been chatting in front of the door before noting Anis, a bit winded, approached them.

“Hello there you two,” Anis panted, checking inside the basket to make sure nothing had spilled. “Is she back yet?”

Opening the basket had apparently been a mistake, since the culinary duo immediately caught onto what sort of treat Anis had brought and smiled. “She is not back yet, but if what you brought tastes as well as it smells I should believe my master will enjoy it,” Arotria smiled, her gentle gaze clearly showing her desire to try some as well.

“It’s been a while since I smelled something like this. Is that-” Emiya approached, starting to reach out to the basket.

Anis flinched back, covering the basket with her free hand. “Sorry about that, it’s best as a surprise ya know? Don’t worry though, it’s meant to be shared.”

Artoria nodded. “Indeed. You should learn to be patient like me. After all, Miss Anis has told us quite clearly it was meant as a surprise for all of us.” A letter had gone out to Vy’s main servants last week, indicating that on her birthday, they should split into two teams- one to distract Vy, and one to stand guard and prepare the room. Anis had barely made it to the room before the deadline.

Anis held out the basket to Emiya, until he took it with both hands. “I’ll just leave this with yall then and head off after telling her-”

“Telling me what?”

“YA!” Anis yelled and stomped her foot hard to prevent from accidentally swinging her elbow towards the voice. A very bad habit that had been the sad result of both martial arts training and poor nerves.

“Eeep! I-I’m sorry Aqui! I didn’t mean to scare you like that…” Vy mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s been a while since we saw each other, so-”

Anis breathed out, trying to relax. “It’s fine- fine” Anis breathed out again, her heart rate returning to normal. “Happy birthday Vy.”

She said it in the gentlest tone she had. Because it was her. One of the kindest souls she’d ever met, and deserved all the respect and charity the world had in return. Even Anis’ servants would treat her kindly and take time to chat with her from time to time.

“Thankie Aqui,” she smiled back in the way that had made her so warm to all she met. “What's that? It smells delicious~” “Hold on there little sparrow,” Robin grinned as he put a hand on her shoulder, earning a small pout from her. “I think we should all go inside and get the full surprise right?” Anis nodded, glad to not disappoint. “We came up with a nice little thing for you Vy!” Anis smiled, something she wasn’t too familiar with, but she was glad her tone at least matched the mood. “I wanted to give you something as thanks for what you’ve given me and others here. And sorry to say, I won’t take no for an answer.” “Muuuu. This better not be something too big Anis.” _________________________

It was a simple affair. Anis had simply planned to leave the gift after explaining, but Achilles and Emiya had forced her to take a seat at the table. Apparently, she had a responsibility to see it through to the end. The cake sat at the center of the table- a Rosca de Reyes, a delicious pastry in the shape of a round loop topped with concha sugar in vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. There were also some fruits as well, but only on half of the cake since Anis didn’t care for them.

The main gift though was the act of cutting the cake, Anis explained. “See, this is technically a celebration cake that’s eaten either on christmas, or on the actual feast day in January,” Anis explained as she passed the knife to Vy on the opposite side of the table.

“Let me get that for you,” Robin said as he started to reach out for the knife only to have Anis give him the look she usually gave those who started deviating from the rules in board games.

“The main thing is cutting it, Robin, so she needs to choose what part she wants and cut it herself,” Anis explained, tapping the cake. “It’s not just a cake you know, it’s a game.”

Vy tilted her head and squinted at the cake. “A… game? Like, with rules?”

“Not that kind of game,” Anis chuckled as she waited for Vy to grip the knife. “See, it’s about making choices and seeing if you get lucky.” Vy still looked a bit confused, but eventually started cutting into the Rosca, the rich smell leaking out with each cut.

Crshh!!

“W-what was that?!” Vy pulled the knife out and looked inside the cut. “Is there food inside too? But it was so hard?”

“Got one already?” Anis asked, a bit surprised at the game starting off so quickly. “I tried to mix up the placement, but with your good fortune it makes sense you’d hit it off on your first try. Make your next cut for now, okay? But only cut as much as you can eat.”

So Vy, still a bit confused, cut again, and hit something she couldn’t cut again. The look on her face though was more of curiosity and interest though, which helped relax Anis a bit. She held out a small spatula and Robin took it to lift her piece out, pulling a bit hard to separate the piece, revealing-

“What the? Is that?” Robin asked, not entirely sure of what had just happened.The other servants were all mostly curious as well, leaning forward to see.

A small blue bird’s head poked out from the left side of the slice, the rest of its body supposedly buried inside. On the right side though, was a small tile with a flower motif that fell onto the plate with a small clink. Vy picked it up and looked it over. The small white ceramic tile was two sided- a lily on one side and a lotus on the other.

“Two prizes so far Vy! Congrats!” Anis clapped, excited to see the reactions of surprise. “The game is meant to be that each person has a chance to find a prize and get good luck! I kinda adjusted it though and just made plenty of small prizes so every one of y'all could get something. So please, go ahead and enjoy it.”

Vy and the other servants started to get excited and began to cut their own slices to find prizes. A large variety of small figures and decorated tiles came out- a miniature crystal horse, a golden chariot, a lion cub, a golden ram, even a miniature Fou! The cake wasa soon gone and the figures were gathered in front of the empty plates, with Vy enjoying the rising atmosphere.

She deserves it honestly. She’s been working hard to take care of so many people. I just gotta give back something. Anis knew how late Vy stayed up at times- both working and because of stress. She also knew from how Fujino treated her that there were obviously more details about her past that shouldn’t be approached. But the unconditional love her servants had for her… Honestly, it made her a bit jealous. But that was fine. She had her own servants she cared for and could rely on. And a fellow master who she could always count on to hear a lovely tune sung or performed. A wonderful flower that bloomed once in the ice and now again in the sea.

Thank you for being born Vy. I’m glad to have been able to meet you. And more so that you could consider me a friend. May you overcome all your hardships, and keep your kindness forever.

#mastersona Anis #A gift #my first long writing attempt!#Sorry I couldn't proofread it #I wanted it to be a surprise #I hope you like it though #Vy #Happy birthday

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tomthesoftie · 5 years ago

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you lied

a/n: this is over 2000 words, so be warned... there are also going to be two different endings to this because i don’t know if i want to make it angst or fluff, teehee... i’ll leave the links at the end of this post :) but without further ado, enjoy the fic, my loves xx (also sorry for not updating for so long, school is a pain in the ass)

pairing: mob!tom x reader

warnings: mentions of blood, angsty shit, swearing, mentions of fire arms/weapons

masterlist prompt list

You met Tom while you were on your morning jog. Your hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail with bobby pins to hold down stray hairs. You were wearing a white sports bra paired with dark olive leggings. Earbuds were stuffed into your ears, muting the world out. Everything about the morning was normal -- normal streets, normal traffic, normal people -- that is until you jogged into a handsome stranger.

This handsome stranger was Tom.

That day, he gave you his number and set up a date with you. He complimented your figure, making you flush from embarrassment and admiration. You thought you looked hideous. Sweat was dripping from your forehead, and you were panting for air. Yet when you contradicted his compliment, he would bite back with more compliments.

Tom was the kindest, sweetest person you’ve ever met. He cared deeply for his friends and family. He’d literally risk it all to save his loved ones.

Something was kept hidden from you, though. Beneath the layers of his pure heart, he was a cold, ruthless yet cunning, man. He was the leader of the strongest mafia in London. Known for his skills, he was the most feared mobster.

To Tom, you were his life, his everything. He’d do anything for you. Ever since you ran into him on your jog, he made it his duty to make sure you were safe. You were his top priority, followed closely by relatives and friends. He didn’t want you to be in any danger, so he never told you about his business, but his plan failed miserably.

A bright smile was stretched across your face as you giddily got into your car. You were heading to Tom’s home, more so mansion, to surprise him.

He rarely brought you to his place, always insisting that your place was better. Never had it crossed your mind as suspicious, and to this day, it still doesn’t. Tom wasn’t a materialistic person and boasting about his belongings wasn’t something that he ever considered.

You drove into the driveway of the Holland Manor, admiring the design of the land. The home was gorgeous, as well as the drive to the front of the house. You felt a tingling sensation in your stomach when you realized that you were almost before his doors. Only when you did see the doors, a sudden rush of nervousness filled your thoughts. The two of you had been dating for a little over 11 months now, but whenever you thought of or saw Tom, something inside you would snap. He was like a drug to you.

You neatly parked your car by the curb. Taking a few deep breaths, you stepped out of the vehicle and inhaled the fresh scent of the trees. You noticed men in black suits were standing beside the doors. They didn’t shift in their position.

These guys weren’t here before, were they? You thought.

Shrugging it off, you knocked lightly on the vast doors. No reply was given. You looked around for a doorbell but no where was it to be found. Choosing your last resort, you walked up to the black tuxedo-clad man standing to your right.

“Excuse me, sir?” You asked in a squeak. He grunted. “Is Tom Holland here?” He gave you an arched brow of suspicion. Quickly, you continued, “I’m his girlfriend, Y/N. I wanted to surprise him today,” even behind his black tinted shades could you tell that he was still eyeing you suspiciously, “I have his number and texts as evidence.”

“Let’s see it, then,” the man’s low voice vibrated in your ears.

You pulled out your phone and rushed to open your messages with Tom. Once you were successful, you thrust the screen into the man’s face. He scanned the messages and looked at the phone number. Finally satisfied, he pulled the door open with a harsh tug. Your mouth fell agape. You just needed to tug on the door.

Stepping into the building, you looked around, feeling a sense of familiarity. You noticed that there were more suited men patrolling the space.

Had something happened to Tom?

You rushed up the grand staircase to Tom’s room. You pushed the door open, but the room was empty. You turned to exit the room and accidentally walked into someone on your way out.

“Watch where you’re going,” a voice boomed.

You looked up at the person, meeting a pair of piercing blue eyes. You recognized his accent as the same as your boyfriend’s. You looked up at his caramel streaked brown hair, then back to his face. His jawline was defined like Tom’s.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” his voice broke your gaze.

You flushed and quickly looked away, “Ah- Sorry.”

“What were you doing in that room?” He was now eyeing you suspiciously, “Who are you?”

“I’m Y/N, Tom’s girlfriend,” you smiled as you said it.

He let out a dark chuckle, “Yeah, like I’d believe that. I would know if my best mate had a girlfriend.”

You felt a short lived pain in your heart. He didn’t tell his friend about your relationship?

“You’re coming with me,” the man grabbed your arms and held them together. His other hand patted you down, looking for something.

“W-What are you doing?” You asked nervously as he touched you.

“What d’you think?” Failing to find any weapons, he pulled out a sleek, black object. A gun.

You whimpered at the sight of it, trying to shift as far away from it as you could.

“Let’s go,” he growled, holding both wrists together behind your back.

You obliged, afraid of his power. You didn’t know what was going on.

As you put the pieces together, you realized: Tom was robbed.

Tears began rolling down your cheeks as you reached another large set of doors. The man behind you kicked the door open, gun still pointed at your head. A metallic smell stung your nose.

“Found this one looking through your room. Thought she could be working for Davis,” he said to the darkness.

A silhouette of what looked like a man came walking towards you. You were shoved into a chair, and a dim light lit up the room. The first thing you saw was a bloodied man tied to his chair. A loud sob ripped from your lips.

“Y/N?” A familiar British voice filled your ears.

Hesitantly, you looked in the direction which the voice came. You saw your brunette boyfriend standing ahead of you, fists covered in blood. You felt like you were going to be sick.

“What are you doing here?” Tom asked, checking if you were injured at all.

“You know this girl?” The other Brit sounded.

Tom murmured something to the man, and the man gasped.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know the hell why,” Tom snapped.

You started to feel faint. Why was Tom beating up some random guy in a dark room? What was he hiding from you? Did you even know who the real him was?

“Darling, look at me. Take deep breaths,” you tried, but you couldn’t. The smell of blood made you feel even worse. You gagged, “I know it doesn’t smell good, but I can’t have you fainting on me right now.”

“I- Leave. Leave now,” you managed to say.

“Haz, get her out of here,” the rest he said in a whisper so you couldn’t hear.

You felt someone lift you from your seat and carry you out of the room. You were lightly dropped onto a soft cushion.

“I’m so sorry about earlier. I really didn’t know,” a soft voice said to your dazed figure.

“S’alright,” you murmured without realizing.

It took you a while to regain your state of normality, but when you did, everything came rushing back to you. Tom had beat someone almost to their death. His best friend stuck a gun to your head.

You shot up from your seat. You turned on your heal and rushed to get out of the house.

“Where are you going?” Haz asked you.

“I remembered that I left something back at my flat. I need to go get it, but don’t worry, I’ll be back,” you lied urgently, hoping to get out as fast as possible.

“Why are you in such a rush?” He eyed you as he did before, reading you like a book.

“I’m not in a rush,” you scoffed, “Just want to get my...” you contemplated for a moment, “my gift for Tom as quick as possible.”

“Nice try, darling,” he rolled his eyes. His eyes scanned your face, “You’re afraid,” tears began to pile in your eyes, “He’s never told you about this, hasn’t he?” You shook your head, no, “Oh, darling, come here.” He opened his arms and gave you a sympathetic smile.

Without hesitance, you rushed into his arms, crying into his white shirt. Although you were still afraid of him, you couldn’t help but hug him. You needed comforting at the moment, and no one else was here to do so.

“It’s alright. I understand how you feel. When I found out my father was in this...” he thought for the right word, “business, I reacted much like you, except for the running away part.”

You sniffled into his shirt, “I-I’m afraid.”

“I know you are, love, but Tom will come out and explain everything to you,” he gently stroked your hair.

You flinched at Tom’s name, “No. I want to go, and I want to go now.”

Harrison sighed, “Alright. I shouldn’t be letting you run, but I’m nice,” a small giggle slipped from your lips, “Stay safe, alright?” You nodded, ecstatic to be leaving.

Before you left, you remembered you never caught his name, “Um- Haz?” He hummed in response, “I never really caught your full name...”

“Oh, right. I’m Harrison Osterfield, but my friends call me Haz,” he smiled.

“Are we friends?” You asked with puppy dog eyes.

“Whatever you want, darling,” he felt himself melting under your adorable gaze. It was just too hard to resist.

“Alrighty, Hazza. We are friends now,” you said, amusement glazing your tone.

He chuckled and told you to go if you still wanted to leave. Sadly, you went your way, leaving Harrison to watch as you grew into a smaller dot with each step you took.

You waved goodbye to the man who helped you into the home and rushed back to your car. You started the vehicle as fast as your body allowed and zoomed off. You didn’t even look back to admire the beautiful property. The only thing on your mind was getting out of there.

You’d been dating practically a stranger for 11 months. It was all a facade. Who knows what he would’ve done to you if the two of you got into a fight.

That night, as you cuddled in bed, flashes of the bloodied man and Tom’s bloodied fists filled your mind. You were constantly pinching yourself awake to avoid the visions. Occasionally, in your dazed state, your mind wandered to Tom, thinking about what he was doing at the moment, but you always slapped yourself on the cheek to snap out of it.

Back at the Holland Manor, Tom was punching things left and right. He was mad at Harrison for letting you run away. He was mad at himself for keeping this a secret from you for so long. He was just afraid that other competing mobsters would kidnap you and use you against him.

His hands pulled at his curls in frustration. He couldn’t stop seeing the look of fear on your face you’d given him back in his office. You looked so terrified for your life, yet he could still see the concern for him bubbling in your eyes.

Tom couldn’t stand the guilt, so he drove to your flat at 2:18 in the morning.

You heard a knocking at the door and felt your stomach drop. Who would be at the door at this time?

Then, you heard a muffled voice.

“Darling, it’s me, Tom, please let me in.”

You stayed put in your bed, ignoring the pulling in your chest that told you to open the door.

Less than a minute later, you heard the door click open. The pounding in your chest became quicker and louder. This time, it wasn’t sympathy, it was fear. You reached for the pepper spray hidden in the corner of your room and quietly backed into the furthest corner to the door and closest to the window. You unlocked the hinges of your window, prepared for the escape.

Your bedroom door creaked open and a familiar face peaked in from the crack. You felt yourself automatically relax, but you kept the pepper spray up.

Tom stepped into your room, hands in the air, “I’m not going to hurt you, love, I just came to explain.”

He tried moving closer to you, but you yelled, “Don’t come any closer!”

He flinched from your tone and the pain that struck his heart.

“Explain from there,” you nudged your head to the other side of the bed.

“If it makes you feel safer, then I will,” he stepped behind the bed. “Look, love, what you saw earlier wasn’t me just beating up some random guy-”

“It sure looked like it! Blood was on your fists, Tom. Your fists! Not yours but his,” you yelped, realizing how bad it sounded out loud.

“I know, love, I know, but I have a reason for it,” he tried to explain in a calm tone.

“You have a reason for beating someone up? Like what? Did he make you mad? Did he hurt your ‘wittle’ heart? You have no-”

“I do! I’m a fucking mobster, all right? Not just any. No, I’m the strongest mobster in London!” He shouted at you.

You whimpered at his temper, afraid that he would hurt you. Your arms faltered but stayed frozen in place. You scrunched up your face and closed your eyes, leaning into the wall as much as you could.

“Darling, I-I never meant to scare you. I’m so sorry, love,” he moved closer to you.

! angst ending | fluff ending !

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fannishcodex · 4 years ago

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Some sketches/brainstorming for a Role Swap AU where Kipo’s the older, abandoned experimental subject, and a younger Hugo isn’t left behind.

Due to being 17-18 and various other AU reasons, Role Swap!Kipo (or “Futura”) has greater control over transforming her body and can even shift it into more intermediate stages, i.e. looking more like a normal sentient mute like Jamack, the Timbercats, etc.

(Her face reminds me more of a jackal than a jaguar at the moment, but I was honestly enjoying the jackal-esque look more. Also thought it made her look more distinct from her Mega/Full Mega forms, and I was also considering possible subtleties in shapeshifting mechanics. May try to change up her face later though.)

In this Role Swap AU, Project Kipo actually went through official channels and was approved by the DNA Burrow as an alternative to the ongoing failure of the mutagen trials with animal subjects. (Dr. Emilia was outvoted and outmaneuvered.)

More Role Swap AU sketches/brainstorming under the cut:

Song still ends up mutated due to side-effects of the pregnancy and still gets stuck as a Mega after a failed field test on the surface when Project Kipo is one year old. The fallout of that included effectively abandoning Project Kipo, though it didn’t reach the extreme of destroying the specimen. The experimental subject was kept around, generally confined to the labs in response to concerns held by the majority of the DNA Burrow over the high-profile failure and rampant fear it sparked. Emilia tried to find some practical application for the defunct project, over which she now had full control. Lio lost parental rights, and sometimes got approval for limited visits. (One serious escape attempt was made and ended in failure.)

So Kipo is Hugo’s older sister.

Some more detail on AU reasons for Kipo’s greater control over her jaguar shapeshifting and powers: Emilia tried to train her as a tool/weapon from a young age, Kipo was born mutated, Kipo eventually finds another way to balance her jaguar and human sides, BUT she does have an anchor--it’s Hugo. Eventually the thought of him is enough for her to maintain control.

After begging and doing well with academic tutors, a 12-year-old Kipo was allowed to assist with mutagen trials on the animals; she was motivated by something Emilia told her since she was little, that the trials could help cure Kipo of her mutation. Kipo instead ends up bonding with the young mandrill, especially when he does gain sentience. (The formula mutates Hugo faster, happening when he’s a few months old, when he’s smaller/size of a small child and before his facial markings grow in.) Outside of a strained relationship with Lio and a messy, manipulative, abusive situation with Emilia, Kipo has been very isolated. Hugo is someone else to add to her limited social circle, and the mandrill child has shown her the most affection, the simplest and warmest affection. Kipo goes to great lengths to hide she’s a part jaguar mute from Hugo because he is literally the only one in her life who doesn’t know about her mutation, and practically everyone fears her for it and it’s the root of so many of her problems. She even makes Lio promise not to tell Hugo.

When Kipo turns 13, various things lead to a veritable repeat of her mother, with her going completely Mega for the first time and losing all control in spite of Emilia’s brutal safeguards, and Kipo’s separated from Hugo and Lio.

Lio truly cannot find Kipo, but there are other unfortunate factors--an encounter with Mega!Role Swap!Kipo while carrying an unconscious and injured Hugo made Lio truly afraid of his daughter because she looked as lost as Song when she went Mega, she looked ready to devour them both and he realized how very much he could not bear that fate for Hugo. After everything, Lio’s rather colder in this AU, more cynical, but he realizes he’s truly grown to see Hugo as his youngest child, and he becomes so utterly afraid that Kipo’s jaguar side will end up killing Hugo. And Lio knows how much Kipo cares for Hugo, it would be too awful if she accidentally killed him while not in her right mind. And Lio remembers Song lost inside her Mega mutation, it looks like the same has happened to Kipo. Lio tries to take an extended search for her, and leaves Hugo behind with some *allies they made, but--well, Hugo still has the mutated pheromones, and Emilia eventually figures that out. Lio and co. rescue Hugo from Emilia, and Lio just--Lio just can’t leave Hugo alone like that again, he has to stay and protect him (especially since Emilia escaped again). And Lio remembers Song losing her self when she went Mega, he believes the same has happened to Kipo...

Even when Hugo grows older, Lio resists telling him the whole truth because he doesn’t want his youngest to even try looking for a Mega Jaguar mute for fear he’ll only get himself eaten by a Mega who’s lost all sense of her former self.

(*More on these allies in the AU later, but I think they can be guessed...)

For various AU reasons, Role Swap!Kipo travels way up north (San Praesidia) and falls in with a gang of big cats--lions, tigers, cheetahs, etc. She eventually becomes their leader when she gains better control over her powers and can overwhelm them with her great strength as a Mega. With Kipo commanding them, they eventually conquer their northern surroundings, and then start moving down to Las Vistas. The big cat gang is generally fashion forward and fixated on something like modernism, and they become even more inclined toward the future when Kipo/”Futura” takes over.

(Kipo decides on “Futura” due to reading up more on Song’s research after she returned once to the ruined DNA Burrow before she wound up in the north. Her mother’s references to Kipo as “the future of humanity” left an impression on her...)

By 17-18, Role Swap!Kipo appears visibly cheerful and very eccentric and enjoys trying on different outfits and music. While awkward and earnest in her initial attempts with others on the surface, after having a pivotal mental breakdown before she took control over the big cat gang, she’s now better at manipulating others with charm and chatter besides always having Mega force at her disposal. She dabbles in chemistry, but loathes astronomy. (She still made a replica of Hugo’s star blanket during one of her low moods, she only likes that stylized image of stars in relation to her brother.) Her hatred for Emilia is more clear and more intense now. She hates every human from the DNA Burrow. She pretty much loathes all humans. She hates Lio for the abandonment after she destroyed the burrow, but even more for what happened before and for helping mutate her in the first place and turning her into a living science experiment. She hates Song more than Lio, though she’s never properly met her--actually, because she’s never properly met her.

(Completely off topic: Yes I got tired and just made all the Role Swap!Kipo sketches pink. XD But I also thought it was a little stylistically nice? Also felt Hugo needed more colors because of distinctive mandrill markings, not just ‘cause he’s my fav? I mean, I’m pretty sure there was more to it, but who knows what my gut really felt. XD)

Role Swap!Hugo is sweet, shy, earnest, awkward, and very anxious. He tries to hide his mutated pheromones, which Lio and allies they’ve made on the surface have told him to only use for emergencies, and to be mindful that it only works on primates, it won’t help him with everyone. He’s very fond of the dark-feathered flamingo twins he tamed enough and befriended enough to ride, and whom he named Evangeline and Katherine. He enjoys music, art, history, reading, and historical fashion...he still has a soft spot for kings and such, but definitely doesn’t think it would ever be for him just due to public speaking alone, and he also prefers to keep that between him and the memory of his sister, whom he still deeply misses and grieves.

Role Swap!Hugo loves Lio, but things can get strained between them due to trauma in their family history, lingering insecurities, heavy issues, like--as he gets older, Role Swap!Hugo knows Lio is refusing to tell him everything that happened in the DNA Burrow, and Hugo feels he’s old enough to know the truth, if him being too young was Lio’s only reason for secrecy. And...and Hugo’s old enough to try looking for Kipo, maybe she’s alive and missing; Hugo knows he was too young before, but he’s older now, why doesn’t father even want to try?... But Hugo guiltily reconsiders and worries it’s too much for Lio who was able to really search before, and Lio maybe just can’t deal with anymore heartache.

But Role Swap!Hugo wants to try...

Role Swap!Kipo is very convinced she’s right. When she finally reunites with Hugo, she’s convinced she knows what’s best for her baby brother, and she thinks it’ll be better for Hugo if Lio were out of the picture because he was one of several scientists who experimented on both of them. That’s unforgivable, unavoidable. There’s no ignoring that. And making things worse, Lio still has too much control over Hugo--how can her poor brother ever be free of Lio if he’s still around? No, their dad should be out of the picture, just like Song.

(Hugo had dreamed of Kipo’s survival, but he had never imagined this.)

#kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #scarlemagne #kipo oak #hugo oak #kataowb #my fanart #my fanfic #role swap au

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spaceskam · 5 years ago

Text

no voice

warning: anxiety, selective mutism, implied child abuse

ao3

Alex Manes didn’t speak.

Michael watched him from afar for the entirety of middle school and high school. He’d seen people like and prod him to get him to speak. He’d seen people make fun of him and teachers dock his grade for refusing to speak. He’d even seen Alex’s father drag him out of detention, scolding all the way. No, Alex didn’t speak, but Michael seemed to be the only one who didn’t mind.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Alex had friends. Liz Ortecho and Maria DeLuca hung around him, never forcing him to talk yet managing to include him anyway. Perhaps it was creepy that Michael had noticed all these things, but Alex was too interesting not to pay attention to.

It was only when Michael became increasingly aware that he was running out of time with graduation approaching in just a few months that he realized he needed to do something. He needed to at least try to get to know Alex or he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

“Hey,” Michael said, standing beside Maria, Liz, and Alex’s lunch table. They looked up to him with various stages of confusion on their faces. “Uh… Can I sit with you guys?”

They all looked between each other, clearly trying to come up with the nicest way to say ‘I’d rather stab myself in the jugular’. They came up with nothing which is how Michael ended up sitting with them for lunch.

The first half was completely silent which was awkward as hell. Michael realized that he’d bombarded them with his presence, so it was probably his duty to create conversation. He looked between the three unfairly attractive group of people and tried to think of something to talk about. Before he could come up with anything, they all looked at him simultaneously as if they’d shared a goddamn mental conversation.

“Okay, I’ve decided that there are only three reasons you could be sitting with us. You’re either here to hit on one of us, to ask for tutoring, or because you were dared. Which is it?” Maria said bluntly. Michael’s eyes widened and had to wonder how many times that had happened that they had a list. And, more importantly, he was embarrassed that he fucking fell into that list. Not that he could admit that. He wanted to hit on Alex, but he had no idea if Alex was gay, straight, or something else entirely and he had no intention of outing anyone. It didn’t help that Alex didn’t actually speak so he couldn’t even find out. Maybe this was a bad idea…

“Ever think I’m just trying to make friends?” Michael tried.

“Four months before we graduate? Try again,” Maria said. He glared at her for a second before remembering she didn’t actually deserve to be glared at. Michael sighed and looked to Alex. As always, his face was expressionless and he was looking down at his untouched plate. His shoulders were hunched and his hands were in his lap. It didn’t take a genius to see that Michael’s presence was making him uncomfortable. Great. Way to fucking go.

“Fine, I-I need help with calculus,” Michael lied, “But it’s fine, I’ll figure it out.”

Michael started to get up and take the loss, but Liz stopped him. “Wait.”

“No, seriously, I’m not trying to impose myself,” he said. That was the truth. He’d spent years trying to get the courage to speak to Alex and, when he finally tried, he made him uncomfortable. He just wanted to go slam his head into a locker‒was that so hard to ask?

“Look, Alex and I study calc every Thursday at The Crashdown after school. If you show up, I won’t not help you,” Liz said. Michael looked at her and then to Alex who didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter. Michael took a deep breath and decided he’d try one more time.

“Okay.”

Rule one to asking for math help: you have to actually act like you don’t know what you’re doing.

“You don’t actually need help,” Liz pointed out about fifteen minutes into their study session. Michael stared at her blankly and it occurred to him that he hadn’t actually tried to pretend he was confused. Again, as always, Alex wasn’t apart of the conversation. Michael wanted to know how he communicated. So far, he hadn’t figured it out.

“Um,” Michael said. He couldn’t come up with a good excuse anymore, so he instead said nothing.

“Look,” Liz sighed, “You can study with us still. I don’t mind. Just don’t lie.”

“Okay, I won’t,” Michael promised. She stared at him for a minute.

“Right, I’ll be right back, you good, Alex?” Liz asked. Alex made no move to respond, but she touched his shoulder for a few seconds and seemed to get an answer from that. She got up and disappeared into the back.

This was Michael’s chance.

“So…” he started. Alex’s eyes stayed on the book in front of him, showing his work with the complex equations. Michael didn’t know how to go about this. He decided to go full stupid and speak his mind. “The real reason I’m here is because I want to get to know you.” Alex stopped writing. “You can kick me if I go too far or say too much, but I’ve been wanting to get to know you for a long time. I look at you and… I don’t know, maybe I’m just superficial, but you’re gorgeous.”

Michael could see Alex get tense and he could see the way he clutched his pencil. His nails dug into his palm. He’d fucked up.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Michael said, very quickly trying to gather his things so he didn’t make it worse. But then Alex looked up at him. He didn’t hold eye contact or even really make it in the first place, but it was something. Alex Manes didn’t do that. Michael didn’t know how to take it. “Can I give you my number? If you don’t want to use it, I understand, I won’t be mad, but… Can I?”

Alex’s movements were so subtle and controlled. It was hard to fully grasp. However, his phone ended up on the table between them. Michael blinked a few times before he very quickly gave the man his number. Maybe he wouldn’t ever use it, but he got further than he thought he would.

Liz sat back down after a minute with a tray of fries and Alex went back to putting his phone in his lap. Michael was on cloud nine, unable to hide his smile as he looked to Liz. She raised her eyebrow as she looked at him.

“Why are you smiley over calculus?” Liz asked. Michael tried to dial it back, but he found that literally impossible. Alex stole one look at him and it made it worse.

“I’m just… really happy I finally got down the application of triple integrals,” Michael said. She eyed him skeptically but didn’t press.

Alex ignored him for the rest of the night and it was still enough to make him skip all the way home.

“Hey, Mom, can I ask you a question?”

Michael watched his mother take the time to dry her hands from doing breakfast dishes and sit beside him before asking him to continue, her eyes wide with interest.

“Have you ever dealt with, like, kids that didn’t speak? Like that all?” Michael asked. Her head tilted to the side, her corkscrew curls squishing against her shoulder.

“Like mutism? Sure, a few times,” she answered.

“Do you know what causes it? Or do they just not like to? How do you talk to them or get them to talk or even just, like, communicate?” Michael asked.

“Whoa, slow down,” she laughed, her hand covering his, “Where’s all this coming from?”

Michael sighed, trying to think of the best way to say ‘I like a boy and he doesn’t speak and I gave him my number two days ago and he hasn’t texted me’. Of course, there wasn’t a best way to say that, so he just settled for half of the story.

“There’s a guy at school who doesn’t speak and I don’t know how to go about it without being rude,” Michael said. Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as she nodded.

Ingrid Guerin was a social worker assigned to Michael when he was just three years old. She had gone to college and gotten a degree to teach children with special needs, but decided that she wanted to become a social worker with “problem” children instead. By the time Michael was three, he’d already been labeled a problem child and got passed onto her. According to her stories, he was sweet to her and couldn’t figure out where the problems laid until she would get frantic calls at four in the morning because he was screaming at the top of his lungs and drawing on furniture and fighting anyone who got near him.

She watched him get passed from family to family, each one only being able to handle him for about six months before they wanted him gone. She was the only real constant in his life and the only one who seemed to understand that he just needed affection that people refused to give him. According to her stories that she told him very regularly, though, when he was eight years old, he accidentally called her ‘mama’ and she decided she couldn’t stand watching him be rejected anymore. Within a few months, she moved out of his jurisdiction and became his foster mom until she could adopt him three years later. She was his favorite person in the world.

“Well, I can’t tell you exactly where it stems because there’s a lot of different reasons someone becomes mute. Most of the time, though, they’re just born that way. Genetic social anxiety can show its face really young which can cause selective mutism and it takes a lot of therapy to even become manageable. But then there’s stuff like traumatic mutism which is something different, but it can overlap occasionally if someone who has selective mutism has repeatedly negative reinforcement about it. But, obviously, everyone is different and I don’t know this kid, so it could be a number of things,” she tried. Michael scrunched up his nose and accepted that the answer was a long, detailed ‘I don’t know’.

“How do I talk to him?”

“Um,” his mom said, humming to herself as she tapped against the back of his hand, “Maybe you don’t? Most of the children I’ve met who don’t speak take best to when there’s absolutely no pressure. Just… If you do talk, don’t make it feel like he has any obligation to speak back. So he knows you’re just trying to be nice. But it’s a very, very tricky thing.”

“He has two friends. I don’t know if he speaks to them or not, but he hangs out with them,” Michael said.

“Well, sometimes people with mutism can still speak to people they’re extremely comfortable with, even if it’s just in whispers. And, honestly, that’s what it is at the end of the day. It’s about comfort. It causes major anxiety for these people to even walk out of their house and be around other people. It can be paralyzing. They’re probably people he feels the most comfortable with,” she explained. Michael nodded slowly as he tried to think of ways to make Alex Manes feel comfortable with him.

“And… how do I do that?” he asked. His mom smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t know, babe, that’s something you have to find out,” she told him. He groaned.

“What’s the point of having a mom who knows this stuff if she can’t help me?”

She grinned and ruffled his head, smacking a kiss to his head before hopping off the bar stool. “Because I feed you. Now get to school.”

He couldn’t help but smile and listen.

“Love you, Mama!”

“Love you too, Mikey!”

“So, I was thinking about you and I think you would like this movie I watched.”

Alex very slightly looked up at Michael as he sat across from him in the empty Calculus room, but it was enough to show that he was paying attention so Michael took it as a win. On his trek to school, he decided that he would simply pay very close attention to Alex’s body language to see when he should go away.

“Well, I’m assuming you would like it. I like it, so I hope you would. It’s called In The Mood For Love. It’s a movie from Hong Kong so it’s, like, not in English, but I bet you might like it. And if I’m talking too much or you want me to leave, don’t be afraid to kick me,” Michael said. He was absolutely hallucinating, but it seemed like Alex’s blank face was a little closer to a smile than it was a frown and wasn’t that just beautiful? “So it’s about this woman and her husband who live right next door to another couple, right, and the woman finds out her husband is cheating on her and then the man next door finds out his wife is cheating on him. Then they find out their spouses are cheating together! It’s batshit.”

Michael spent the next ten minutes explaining the plot to the movie with no expectation for Alex to jump in, just to inform. At some point, Alex began to look up at him. Not in the eye or anything, but his face was turned towards him like he didn’t want to stop. Michael didn’t even know how to respond, so he started to drag the plot of the movie out even longer.

Eventually, though, students began to filter in and he had to stop. It was a damn shame. He was feeling awfully confident.

“Anyway, so, I don’t do it any justice. The cinematography is literally gorgeous. If you ever wanted to, like, come over and watch it, you could,” Michael offered, his body involuntarily moving forward whenever Alex looked down again, “Or-or not. I could just explain movies to you every day. I watch a lot of movies.”

Alex didn’t say anything, not like Michael was expecting him too. To take away any pressure he might’ve given, he stood up.

“You have my number. And you can still kick me whenever,” Michael promised before going to his own seat.

The class went by with him stealing glances over at Alex the entire time. It was hard not to look at him. Alex was fucking gorgeous. He had dark hair and dark eyes and wore all black which was lovely on its own, but he had the face of a fucking god which was unfair. Michael remembered being totally starstruck the first time he saw him back in middle school. It only got harder to deny with each year.

Michael sat with them at lunch again and Alex wasn’t nearly as slumped over. Win.

The locker slammed shut.

Michael jumped and looked over to the culprit, eyes wide as Maria just glared at him. He didn’t know why, but that glare made him feel guilty for everything wrong he’d ever done in his entire life. He wasn’t sure exactly what those wrong things were and yet, here he was, about to apologize for them.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but if this is some kind of joke to fuck with Alex’s feelings, you need to stop right now,” she said sharply. Michael blinked a few times in confusion, but soon understood what she was saying. He hadn’t done much. Alex hadn’t even texted him or anything, but they always got to Calc early and Michael would talk to him about whatever was on his mind and Alex would listen like he was sitting at a live podcast. Michael thought it was unbearably cute. So cute, he even loaned him his Big Eden DVD.

“I’m not trying to hurt his feelings. I like talking to him,” Michael insisted. Maria pursed his lips.

“What’s the endgame here?” she asked, “Alex is… Alex is my best friend and I’m not going to let him get hurt by some fucking guy who is forcing himself into his life who just wants to mess with him. He told me you gave him your number, what’s that about?”

Michael held his breath, trying to figure out what he was supposed to say. He didn’t want to say too much and he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. Whatever he told her, she was going to relay back to Alex. He knew that.

“I like Alex,” Michael admitted, “I might not know him that well, but… I really want to.”

Maria narrowed her eyes at him, “You like like him?”

“Yeah.”

Maria stayed still for a while, eyeing him and judging him. He let her.

“What do you get out of this, huh? He’s not going to speak to you,” Maria said. Michael shrugged.

“Yeah, but he can text me and I can get to know him that way,” Michael said, “Look, I know you’re just being protective. I get that. But… I like him.”

Maria swallowed slowly, furrowing her eyebrows. “Why do I feel like you have an ulterior motive?”

“Because you don’t want him to get hurt,” Michael filled in, “But I won’t hurt him.”

“If you do, I will not hesitate to push you off a cliff,” she said. Michael smiled at her as sincerely as possible despite the fact that she was concerningly serious.

“Deal.”

She stared at him for a few seconds longer before pulling a Sharpie from her backpack and grabbing his arm. He watched as she scribbled a number on his skin.

“He isn’t going to text you first,” she said. Maria gave him one last look before turning and walking away. Michael could hear her badass theme music in his head.

Score.

Michael: Hey :)

“The smiley face was too much, I shouldn’t have added a smiley face.”

“I genuinely don’t think the smiley face has anything to do with it.”

Michael gave an appalled look to Isobel who sat on his couch while he paced back and forth. Max was passed out on the recliner, balled up around a pillow as if to make himself smaller. He’d clearly spent the night reading and was now spending his Saturday sleeping. They were now politely whispering around him about Michael’s crisis.

“So you’re saying he just doesn’t want to talk to me at all?” Michael asked.

“I’m saying that maybe he’s pacing right now in front of Maria and Liz to help him figure out how to respond,” she said, scooting forward, “I mean, you texted him at, what, 10:30 last night? He might’ve been asleep and then by the time he woke up it was hours after you sent it and now he’s not sure if he should respond.”

“Okay, that’s… valid,” Michael sighed, falling onto the couch beside her, “I’m just so nervous that he isn’t into me. Like, I’m really putting myself out there, Izzy.”

“I know,” she said, draping her arm around him, “But I’m sure he does. Or, if he doesn’t, he doesn’t seem the type to be a dick.”

“Okay, but he’s got anxiety, probably, right? So, like, what if he feels bad that I’m into him and feels obligated to go out with me because of that and we have a relationship that’s just him feeling bad for being hetero.”

“Michael, you are actually overreacting now.”

Before Michael could say anything else, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. They both froze.

Then, like the dumbass he was, Max stirred and reached for it out of habit and put it to his ear. They both snorted.

“Hello?” he asked groggily despite the fact that it wasn’t a call and it wasn’t his phone.

“Give me that, go back to sleep,” Michael said, snatching it from his hand. Max simply hummed in response and cuddled back into his pillow. “We need to ban him from night reading if he can’t do it responsibly.”

Isobel sighed, “I keep telling Mom that, but she won’t.”

They both gave quiet laughs which effectively took away some of the stress off this very stressful situation. Michael leaned back into the couch and into Isobel’s side as he opened the text. There it was in its shiny glory.

“Hey,” Isobel read aloud.

“Oh, God, he thinks I’m annoying,” Michael whined, dropping it.

“What? Where did you get that from? He just said hey!”

“That’s what you say when you don’t want to talk.”

“Michael, you said hey.”

“With a smiley face! Which means: hey, smiley face, I want to talk to you, smiley face, no pressure though, smiley face.”

“...you need to stop watching whatever the hell you’re watching that is making you think like this.”

“Izzy.”

“Give me your phone,” she said, holding her hand out. Michael almost said no, but she had that no-nonsense look on her face and he learned quite young to never disobey that look. He handed over the phone.

He watched her with a horrific level of nerves as she typed away for a few seconds. When she handed it out, he looked with wide eyes to see what she sent.

Michael: this is now where I request your opinion on Big Eden

“What if he thinks that’s mean and pressuring?” Michael asked, worry in his tone. Isobel rolled her eyes.

“He won’t. He’s got all the time in the world to answer, no stress.”

Michael sighed and tried not to look too completely terrified whenever Alex didn’t immediately respond. After about ten minutes, Isobel took the phone away and put it on the coffee table so he wouldn’t stare at it until he got a response.

“Stop looking so defeated, it’s gonna be fine,” she assured him, “I don’t even get why you’re so bad at this. You talk to girls all the time.”

“But this feels important.”

“Why?” she asked.

Michael tried to come up with a valid answer as to why it felt like a life or death situation with every encounter, but couldn’t. There was just something about this guy that felt real even if they’d never actually had a two-way conversation. Him simply sitting and listening to Michael speak in a classroom felt like a bigger, more intimate moment that getting felt up in the back of a truck in an abandoned Walgreens parking lot. He just… didn’t know how to say that out loud without sounding insane.

“I don’t know,” Michael said instead. He said it just as his phone buzzed. Michael nearly fell off the couch to grab it.

He opened it to a long, essay-worthy response from Alex. He smiled so wide it hurt.

“Oh boy, you’re a goner,” Isobel sighed.

Michael melted into the couch to respond.

Michael: i saw this movie today

Alex: do you ever go a day where you DON’T see a movie?

Michael: hardly

Michael: it’s called Camp

Alex: what’s it about?

Michael: basically it’s a theatre camp and it was kinda long and kinda boring and the “main romance” was about cheating and the guy was a TOOOL but there were subplots of a boy discovering his sexuality via a gorgeous dream scene and acceptance and a girl who poisoned another girl to steal her role in a show

Alex: how’d you find it?

Michael: googled robin de jesus

Alex: who is that

Michael: WHHHHYYYY ARE YOU SO UNCULTURED

Michael: sorry i’m passionate about my broadway babies

Alex: lol I know :) maybe I should watch it

Michael: you should

Michael: ALEX I LISTENED TO A MUSICAL AND I THINK YOU’LL LOVE IT

Michael: I MEAN IT WAS SUPER HECKIN SAD BUT

Alex: lol what is it?

Michael: Bare: A Pop Opera

Michael: important distinction from bare the musical which is similar but I have FEELINGS about some of the changes that i refuse to talk about

Alex: lol i believe you

Alex: go on. plot please :)

Michael: OKAY so basically it’s about two bros in love at catholic school and one is super in the closet and the other one is too scared because, you know, god. And the closet bro flirts with girls and stuff even though he’s sleeping with the guy because he wants to appear straight and basically he hooks up with a girl and then regrets it and tries to go back to his boy but the boy turns him down and the girl is pregnant and everyone finds out he’s gay and he overdoses and dies on stage and the moral is that the catholic church made him so ashamed that he’d rather be dead than deal with the weight of it all

Michael: or something like that i only listened to the soundtrack and read the lacking wikipedia page on it

Michael: the songs are fantastic

Alex: OH WAIT i looked it up, i’ve heard one of the songs before. All Grown Up is some powerful shit

Michael: ISN’T IT

Alex: okay I’m listening to the first song now. Give me roughly three hours and i’ll give you a detailed response on my opinions

Michael: no no give me live reactions. I’m a slut for live reactions.

Alex: okay. The harmonies? On motherfucking point

Michael: knew it

Alex: MICHAEL I READ THIS BOOK

Michael: oh you did? I didn’t know you could do that

Alex: shut up

Alex: it’s called Aristotle and Dante Discover The Secrets Of the Universe

Michael: by fall out boy?

Alex: alright that’s it, no more commentary

Michael: NOOOOOO come back i’m sorry

Alex: okay okay okay adlkjfal;skjdf it’s about two boys and they meet when they’re kinda young and they grow up together and one is so firmly into the other and they spend all the time together and they’re so fiercely protective of each other, but one moves away and they write letters and the one who moved away discovers he’s gay while he’s away and basically he comes back and he’s firmly out and they go back to spending all the time together and ari is like “i’m straight” and dante is like “okaly dokaly” and it takes a hate crime (which is lame) but ari’s parents have to sit him down and they’re like “okay. I hate to break this to you. But you love him” and ari is like WHAT? NO and shit and then he has his epiphany and they make out in the back of a truck under the stars in the desert

Michael: i want to make out with someone under the stars in the back of my truck in the desert

Alex: YOU’RE MISSING THE POINT

Alex: basically it’s not explicitly stated, but ari is 100% bi (i think) and i think you’ll relate to him and michael you need to read this book i’ll give it to you tomorrow

Michael: okay I’ll read it. Maybe not as fast as you, but I will

Michael: if you make out with me under the stars in the back of my truck in the desert?

Alex: bribery is a fool’s game, Guerin

Michael: heterosexuality is for the weak and i’m hercules

Alex: herakles*

Michael: fuck off

Alex: what’d you do that made you feel very not heterosexual

Michael: woke up this morning

Michael: nah, but a lady my mom knows who always tells me to date her daughter told me it again today and i looked her in the eye and said “i’d rather your son” and i think i almost gave her a stroke

Alex: my hero

Michael: coffee after school?

Alex: you wanna hang out after school?

Michael: i want coffee and i want to talk about aristotle and dante and i talk faster than i text

Michael: the crashdown? They make the best coffee after morning time

Alex: okay :)

Michael: i know that it’s 2 in the morning and you’re asleep but i just watched brokeback mountain again and i’m ugly crying in bed and i felt the need to tell you how free i feel. I’m here, i’m queer, and if someone has a problem with it, they might actually get charged with a hate crime for once

Michael: not that i want to get beat up to test it

Michael: i’m just free. I’m free.

Alex: ❤️️

“And that’s when I accidentally found myself on Mars and had a candy bar crafted by Abe Lincoln who resides there now.”

“Fun.”

Ingrid sighed, “Michael Guerin, if you do not put that damn phone down I’m taking it away.”

That one, Michael heard. He put it down on the table gently, Alex’s message still displayed on the screen. It wasn’t his fault he’d spent the last two weeks glued to it, it was 100% Alex’s. He was just far too much fun to talk to.

“Okay, tell me about the girl,” Ingrid insisted. He blinked innocently at her. She gave him that motherly look and put her fork down. “Or boy. I know you, Michael, you don’t ever spend that much time on your phone and smiling at it like it just told you how lovely your eyes are.”

Michael felt his face turn red and he focused on his vegan pad thai instead of his mother. That was much easier to face.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, yeah right. C’mon, spill,” she urged, childishly kicking his shin under the table. Michael smiled helplessly.

“It’s just some guy,” he sighed, “The guy I told you about before, the one who doesn’t speak.”

“That explains the texting,” she said.

“Mom, he’s so funny. And smart. And sweet. And, Mom,” he said, looking up to her with the most serious look on the planet, “He hates Casablanca as much as I do.”

Ingrid gasped, her hand going to her chest, “Oh my god, he’s perfect.”

“I know!” Michael exclaimed, leaning back in his seat, “I just… don’t know if he’s into me or even into guys.”

“Baby, just ask,” she said. Michael scoffed.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not? He knows you’re bisexual, right? Well, just ask him out,” she said because apparently, it was that easy. It was never that easy. He simply shrugged.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Mhm,” she hummed. He still gave a small smile as he went back to his meal.

The next day, he very quickly brought this conversation to Isobel whenever he saw her in the parking lot of school. Max lurked beside them, yet out of the conversation because his book was far more important than Michael’s boy problems.

“I think you should do it,” Isobel said. Michael looked at her like she’d lost it. “You’ve been talking to him for, what, two months?”

“Three.”

“Jesus, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Rejection.”

“Well, that’s not that bad.”

“Maybe not to you!”

Isobel rolled her eyes. While the idea of that weight on his shoulders was actually terrifying, Michael was eager to get some alone time with Alex. Even if it didn’t end the way Isobel thought. Plus, a movie felt like a good way to start the hanging out process. You know, hanging out that wasn’t coffee with Liz lurking around. So, he told him.

It took a while, but, just as the bell rang, he got his response.

Alex: sounds fun :)

Michael nearly screamed.

Michael tapped anxiously against the steering wheel as he waited outside the Crashdown. This was where they agreed to meet and then Michael would drop him off here and he would walk home. Michael had asked why he couldn’t just bring him home, but Alex insisted this would be easier.

That whole thing became a lot harder to think about whenever Alex came out of the Crashdown looking like a fucking God.

He was still wearing his typical black jeans, but he was now wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt instead of a jacket and fucking eyeliner. Michael forgot how to breathe. It was infinitely harder to play it cool when Alex got into the passenger seat. Michael gave his steering wheel one final slap.

“Hey,” Michael said, turning to him. Alex gave him a little nod as he faced him too. Michael learned early on that when Alex made an effort to face him, it was on par with any other person greeting him with a hug. Alex just started a few steps more conservative than everyone else. He wondered when he would know when it was okay to actually touch him. “Okay, let’s go.”

The drive to the drive-in was short and filled with classic rock music that Alex seemed to enjoy. Whenever Michael would look over, Alex would have his head rested against the window and his eyes closed. That felt like the biggest bucket of trust if there ever was one.

Michael knew Alex very well. They texted all day and night about everything, but obviously, things were a little different in person. It helped to know that the person Alex was in text was inside the more contained version of him that everyone saw. Michael had a million questions he never asked about why he couldn’t just let him in in person if he could let him in over the phone.

They parked in the middle of the area because that had the best view of the screen. He figured they’d be watching in silence for the whole thing, so he wanted to have a good view. Not that that was a bad thing.

“Hey, just so you know, this movie is trash,” Michael said after a moment. Alex blinked at him with those big eyes and Michael smiled helplessly at them. “You ever seen it?” Alex shook his head slowly. “Well, I’d give you a run down, but we’re about to watch it.” Alex pulled out his phone and typed quickly before showing it to him.

Tell me anyway

Michael smiled even wider and got to telling him the plot of the movie. Even when the movie started, they ignored it in favor of Michael’s shitty retelling. They kept leaning closer as Michael spoke softer, trying not to be total assholes to people around them by being too loud.

“So, then they get the knock off Cyberman to babysit for them,” Michael said. Alex furrowed his eyebrows in confusion which was the most expressive face Michael had ever seen him make. He smiled wider. “Okay, I should’ve specified that he doesn’t always look like a Cyberman.”

Then Alex smiled. For the first time, Alex smiled. And Michael couldn’t help himself.

“You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen,” he said. Alex immediately looked down and Michael mentally cursed himself. “Sorry, I just… You do.”

Michael tried not to back down from his statement. Every other time he’d stood his ground and tried, it worked for him. He was going to make this work for him. Or, he was going to accept rejection with the fact that he tried.

However, the longer Alex stayed completely still, the harder it was to not offer to immediately take him home.

“I like you, Alex,” Michael said instead, hoping that total reassurance would be helpful, “I’ve liked you since I first saw you in middle school. I’ve been trying to find ways to speak to you since then and when I realized I was running out of time, I tried. Now I’m trying again. I like you. I want… I want this to be a date. I don’t care that you can’t speak. The way we communicate now works great, so don’t feel like… don’t feel like this is bad.”

Alex stayed still for even longer. Michael started counting in his head, making a deal with himself that if he got to 100, he would just take Alex home.

He got to 97 by the time Alex looked up.

“Hi,” Michael whispered. The corner of Alex’s lips twitched up just a bit, but it was enough. Michael leaned in more. “Do you like me too?” Alex gulped visibly but nodded. Michael relaxed a bit more. “Can I kiss you?” Alex’s eyes widened just a little, but he gave another tiny nod.

Michael sucked in a breath and tried not to get himself too worked up. This was only what he’d been dreaming about since he was 13 and decided boys were hot and Alex Manes was god tier. He kept it just like 13-year-old him would have, a two-second peck without any touching other than their lips.

“Was that okay?” Michael asked softly. Alex opened his eyes, those long lashes tickling Michael’s cheek. They stared very close for a second. And then that Alex that was saved for texting conversation came out.

Alex grabbed Michael’s jaw with one hand and put the other one on the back of his head, pulling him impossibly close and kissing him senseless. It was hard to figure out where exactly Alex had learned to do that or if it was just fucking amazing instinct, but Michael very quickly decided that wasn’t important. He let Alex take the lead, let Alex make each move first. It was unexpectedly hot.

Alex was the one who grabbed Michael’s hair with purpose. It was Alex who opened his mouth and pushed his tongue past Michael’s lips. It was Alex who moved closer. Michael wanted to ask where all this confidence came from, but he was terrified that it would stop. He never wanted it to stop.

When it eventually had to pause, Alex took a deep breath with his lips still hovering over Michael’s. It was the most unfair thing that had ever happened in his life.

“So, I take it you’re not straight?” Michael asked. Again, Alex smiled. Again, Alex kissed him.

The movie didn’t last long enough in Michael’s opinion. He eventually had to tear himself away because Alex had a curfew and an alarm to remind him of that curfew. They eventually separated completely and Michael got a gorgeous, gorgeous view of Alex’s flushed face and swollen lips.

“I want to stare at you forever," Michael said. Alex simply rolled his eyes and pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose, effectively hiding his red cheeks and his gorgeous smile. Michael leaned over and kissed the side of his head for extra measure.

On the drive back to the Crashdown, they sat closer. Somewhere along the way, Michael grabbed his hand. Alex didn't pull away. Neither of them was quite sure what this meant, but it was something. It was only shitty whenever they got to the Crashdown and Alex's father was standing there with his arms crossed.

Alex snatched his hand away and looked like a deer caught in headlights. Michael didn't know what to say. His father was clearly not happy and Alex seemed to be all too aware of it. Michael looked over at him.

"Are you okay?' Michael asked. Alex's eyes flickered towards him once more before quickly climbing out of the truck.

Michael watched as his father grabbed him by the arm and basically dragged him to their Jeep. He waited until the door was closed to start screaming at Alex as if that would prevent anyone else from hearing it. Michael heard all too perfectly the sea of ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ and ‘answer me’ and saw Alex lean his head against the window and close his eyes. This time, the closed eyes were to shield the blows of insults.

Michael watched with a heavy heart as Alex and his dad drove away.

When he looked forward, he saw Liz’s face in the window. She mouthed an exaggerated ‘I’m sorry’ to him. Michael just sighed and put his head against the steering wheel.

That’s one way to end an otherwise fantastic date.

Michael: i didn’t get you in trouble, did i?

Alex: nothing is your fault, i promise

Alex: my dad just kinda sucks.

Michael: but you still have your phone, so it’s not the worst?

Alex: I had fun with you tonight.

Michael: me too :)

Michael: can i ask you a question?

Michael: you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to

Alex: ok

Michael: i heard your dad yelling at you… do you speak to anyone at all ever?

Alex: liz and maria sometimes when we’re completely alone

Michael: ah

Alex: it’s a comfort thing

Michael: you’re not comfortable with me?

Michael: (sorry if that sounds mean i’m just curious)

Alex: i AM comfortable with you, but it’s more complicated than that. My brain doesn’t really listen to me. No matter how much i want to, it’s not gonna happen unless my brain decides that theres 100% no threat

Alex: i’m sorry i can’t speak to you

Michael: no worries, i think it works just fine like this :)

Alex: ❤️️

Michael: you wanna talk about your dad?

Alex: literally why would i ever want to do that

Michael: because talking about your feelings is important and shit

Alex: oh how comforting you sound

Michael: :)

Alex: my dad is a dick, what more can i say?

Michael: does he know that if he didn’t yell at you, you might one day become comfortable enough to speak to him?

Alex: he doesn’t actually care

Alex: he assumes that whatever is wrong with me is my mother’s fault and he’s still pissed at her for leaving him

Michael: why didn’t she take you with her?

Alex: idk

Michael: i’m sorry

Alex: stop apologizing

Michael: i willllllll

Alex: youuuu kissed me

Michael: i did and you kissed me back

Michael: so… what does that make us?

Alex: people who made out at a drive-in

Michael: that’s it?

Alex: is there something else?

Michael: Boyfriends.

Alex: ooh becoming official over the phone? Romantic

Michael: BE THAT WAY THEN

Alex: Wait noooooo come back

Alex: i want a boyfriend

Michael: I can go ask Max, i think he could be into it

Alex: :(

Michael: fiiiiine i’ll go ask myself, i’m sure i’ll be into it

Michael: update: i am, we’re boyfriends now

Alex: :)

“Hey, Mom, can someone give consent if they don’t speak?”

“What the hell did you do?”

Michael rolled his eyes as he sat at the barstool. Ingrid had turned away from the pan on the stove to look at him a no-nonsense look on her face. He just flashed a big smile.

“Nothing, that’s why I asked,” he said. She let out a heavy breath and placed her hand over her heart.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she told him. He twisted in the barstool a little.

He and Alex had been successfully going out for nearly a month now. Graduation was coming up, he was set to go to UNM, Alex had a job lined up with one of his mom’s friends in that area, and life was just really fucking good. He was proud of himself for even getting that far in anything. To think he was just a fucking problem child for so long.

“Well, it is a serious question,” Michael said, “Like, can someone give consent if they don’t speak?”

“It’s very adult of you to come to me about this,” she told him, moving the pot off the stove to come closer. He smiled and shrugged.

Really it was because he didn’t know what else to do. That wasn’t exactly something he could Google, he couldn’t ask any of Alex’s friends, and he was scared to even talk to Alex about it in fear that he might take it the wrong way. That left his mom.

The last few times they’d hung out, it’d gotten pretty hot and heavy and Michael had to stop. It was really fucking hard, but he did it and Alex never seemed to have any offended or thankful opinion on the matter. He was still just flirtatious as fuck over the phone and shy in person until their eyes were closed.

“Does Alex know that you’re asking me about this?” his mom asked. Michael pursed his lips and shook his head.

“No, but I felt it was better to be prepared.”

“Well, listen, it’s hard for me to give advice in this situation because I’m biased. You’re my baby and my heart wants me to tell you absolutely not and give you a chastity belt,” she said, reaching over to pat his hair. He rolled his eyes again. “But you really just have to ask him. His lack of speaking doesn’t make him any less of an 18-year-old. He’s a very smart boy from what I understand, he can make that decision on his own.”

“Okay, but it’s a comfort thing, so, if he still can’t speak to me, then it means he’s not 100% comfortable with me, right? So what if he feels like I’m pressuring him? Because I don’t want to do that,” Michael explained. Ingrid smiled and sighed, her shoulders dropping. She looked proud of him. That was a lot to take.

“If you’re unsure, then just wait. There’s no rush,” she promised him.

Michael nodded. No rush.

“Cheers!”

“That better not be alcohol!”

“Papi, it’s not!”

The small group in the back of the Crashdown laughed at the father and daughter interaction, all except Liz who rolled her eyes at the accusation.

“He served us, you’d think he’d know it’s not alcohol,” she grumbled, earning another round of chuckling.

Michael looked over to Alex and gave him an extra clink to his glass. They were now officially no longer high school students. Three hours before, they’d walked the stage and got their diplomas (all except Alex who opted out of walking like the lucky bastard he was). It was just too surreal.

“I gotta hand it to you,” Maria said, tipping her head in Michael’s direction. Liz and Max were wrapped up in a conversation and Isobel had Alex wrapped up in a vine compilation, leaving them basically alone in their exchange. “I really thought I was gonna kick your ass.”

“I told you I had no intention to hurt him,” Michael insisted. Maria smiled and took a sip of her drink.

“I’m glad you didn’t. He’s happy,” Maria said. Alex looked up at that moment with eyes that said ‘I can hear you’. They both just stuck their tongues out at him. It reminded Michael of when Alex had insisted that he and Maria were far too similar to tolerate in the same room at the same time.

Still, Michael threw his arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Aw, and to think this is all my doing,” Isobel cooed.

“Your doing? I’m the one who gave Michael his number,” Maria pointed out.

“Excuse you both, I’m the one who pined for years and eventually grew a pair, so my doing,” Michael insisted. Alex turned his face into Michael’s shoulder before a smile became apparent. Michael squeezed his hand beneath the table.

Eventually, it got late and they could only party on a Wednesday night in the back of Liz’s dad’s restaurant for so long. Liz and Maria went upstairs, Max and Isobel went to drive home, and that left Michael and Alex. Technically, Alex was supposed to walk home. Although he was 18, his dad was still a tyrant and he needed to stay in his good graces until they could finally go to Albuquerque and get away from him.

However, Michael had one last idea.

“Hey,” he said, “Wanna go make out in the desert in the bed of my truck finally?”

Alex grinned so wide it all but relit the sun.

Michael had driven out to the desert many times in his life, so he knew exactly where to go. He wouldn’t lie, he was feeling a bit giddy about the whole thing. Well, about life in general. He was finally going to make something of himself and he had a fucking high school sweetheart like a total loser and he couldn’t feel better about it.

“I’m so fucking excited, Alex,” he vented as they drove, Alex tucked into his side, “Life’s gonna be great up there. We’re gonna thrive.” Alex pressed a kiss to his jaw. “And, on break and shit, if you wanna come back down and stay with me, Mom won’t care. She loves you. Or if you wanna go to school ever, you could. You can do anything, seriously, this is gonna be great. God, we’re fucking adults!”

Michael pulled to a stop only a few yards away from the turquoise mines. This was his favorite fucking place. No one ever came out there which meant there was no chance of anyone catching him and Alex. And, if they did, who cared?

They both climbed into the back of the truck and basically laughed their way into each other’s embrace. Their lips met for the first time that day and Michael pulled him close, smiling helplessly. This was the beginning of their whole lives.

“I’m so happy I talked to you,” Michael whispered somewhere in between kisses. Alex was beneath him with his hands cradling his face and his legs making room for him to lay between. “I’m so happy I met you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Alex huffed a laugh and shook his head, pulling him down for a kiss. He knew Alex didn’t actually believe that, but it didn’t stop him from telling him. He’d spilled basically his entire life story to Alex and Alex had spilled his. They both knew everything about each other. It was easily the most legit relationship Michael had ever been in. No wonder it was the one he was going to college with.

As the night dragged on, things began to feel a little more real. The kisses got slower and it was harder to think about anything other than Alex Manes and the way it felt to kiss him. Alex continuously pulled them closer, squeezing Michael’s hips with thighs and letting his hands roam. It wasn’t until his hands started to mess with the belt holding up Michael’s admittedly very expensive slacks that he pulled away.

“Do you wanna?” he asked softly, opening his eyes to see Alex’s head nod. Instead, Alex’s lips parted.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little hoarse and very quiet. His eyes didn’t open, happily staying in his bubble of this moment. Michael didn’t pop it.

He kissed him again and got to removing his shirt, trying not to show how giddy he was at hearing that voice and knowing he’d been granted access to something so fucking sacred. He wondered if this was a one-time thing or if they’d shattered into a new level of comfort. Whichever it may be, it made Michael even more excited for their future.

This really was everything.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #michael guerin fic #alex manes #alex manes fic #roswell new mexico #roswell new mexico fic #rnm #rnm fic #my fic

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1171

survey by ohsh1t2wksl8

What Rhymes With “AB”?

1. Do you have nice abs? Do you know anyone who has nice abs? Andi works out and they like sharing with me their progress every month. They’re turning out to have great abs. 2. Do you blab other peoples’ secrets? Do you like to gossip? I’d still join in if it were about something juicy, tbh. But those years are also far behind me for the most part; I like taking part in wholesome gossip these days, like if someone from high school gave birth or found a better relationship to be in. 3. Have you ever ridden in a taxi cab before? Where to? Yes, we’ve had to take taxis to the airport a few times. I never understood why; for the next few trips after that we used our car to get to the airport anyway, so those couple of rides were weird. I can tell you it’s not very convenient being squished in a sedan with 5 people, with all our bags to boot. :( I’ve also had to take cabs in Singapore, China, and Korea when we went. 4. Do you know anyone who’s caught crabs? Probably. I just wouldn’t be aware of it. 5. Have you or someone you know ever had a hermit crab as a pet? One of my colleagues from college, Hannah, owns a couple of hermit crabs.

6. Do you know how to dab? I guess. I’ve just never willingly done it. 7. Do you have any clothing that looks drab? I don’t think so. If not black, most of my clothes are in muted, calm shades, but not dull or depressing ones. 8. Do you use abbreviations in place of longer words? Do you ever refer to something as “fab”? Not abbreviations, but shortcuts. I always call delivery fee ‘deli fee’ instead. And some people my age would usually call Starbucks ‘Starbs.’ 9. Does you body have any excess flab? Where? Yeah, my upper arms will jiggle a bit if I shake them. 10. Who do you know that likes to gab a lot? What do they go on and on about? My mom is insanely talkative and will go through 5 backstories before proceeding to her actual story. 11. When’s the last time someone jabbed you with a needle? No one’s ever done it to me on purpose (and that’s very crappy??) but I’ve stabbed myself in the palm a few times while I’ve been embroidering. I haven’t gotten back to it for several months now, though. 12. Did you have a science lab class during school? Yeah, we had separate lab classes in high school. I liked them, since it was fun to be more hands-on instead of just spending 45 minutes listening to lectures and staring at the blackboard. I especially enjoyed when we were allowed to mix chemicals, heheheh. 13. Have you ever nabbed something from a store before? What was it? We accidentally stole a box of crayons from a bookstore once. No one noticed my mom still had it in her hand until we walked out of the store haha. We immediately went back inside and either paid for it or put it back on its shelf, I don’t remember which. 14. Do you know anyone who’s been to rehab? What were they in for? I don’t think so. But this is also keeping in mind that the Philippines is a shitty country with no decent rehab centers because most people believe that those with addiction problems don’t deserve a second chance at life. 15. How many backstabbers have you cut from your life? Just one. I’ve been careful ever since that person. 16. Do you pick at your scabs? Sometimes. 17. What’s the last slab of meat you’ve eaten? I had a few pieces of pork in the jjajangmyeon I ordered last Thursday. I don’t think I had meat at all yesterday. 18. Is anything in your house looking shabby? No, my mom is very particular about cleanliness and she’ll immediately fix up a area she thinks is starting to look shabby. 19. When’s the last time you felt crabby? Why? I’m usually crabby every morning at the start of my shifts, just because I always feel tense about the flood of deliverables that would inevitably come to me; though I do start loosening up once I’m able to figure out my schedule and time management for the day. 20. Who’s the last person you wanted to stab? What did they do in order to make you feel that way? One of the clients I handle. He was onboarded just this January but we quickly learned that he’s very hard to work with; and my team actually received news super recently that he’s gonna be let go of/is willingly resigning because of the challenges in ways of working. I’m soooo relieved. It was a tornado as soon as he came in. 21. How many tabs are open on your internet browser right now? Continued 8 hours later. On this current window, 10 tabs. I have other windows open though. 22. Has anyone ever tried to get grabby with you when you didn’t want them to? I don’t know what this means...but based on what I saw on Google, does this also mean possessive? If that’s correct, then yeah, it’s happened before. My ex was super suspicious of guys and didn’t like my guy friends for no reason at all, which I found disturbing. 23. What would you put on a Krabby Patty? Oh god, I would just go for the recipe they already show on Spongebob. I would honestly go for the King-Size Ultra Krabby Supreme double batter-fried on a stick though; that looked craaaaazy good on TV. 24. Do you know anyone named Abby? That’s my mom’s name. 25. Do you have one of those grabber claws that helps you grasp things that are out of reach? Not anymore, but we had a toy like that when we were kids. 26. Do you like to play Scrabble? Are you any good at it? I do like playing Scrabble. I think I do pretty well in word games in general, but I think I got even better at Scrabble since I took an actual class on it, so I learned a lot of rules and tricks to be able to win. 27. Is it cute when babies babble? What do you think they’re trying to say? It’s cute but it’s not at the top of my list. I’m guessing they’re just excited about everything since it’s all new to them. 28. What’s the last thing you dabbled in/with? Livetweeting after SO FUCKING LONG. I don’t think I’ve done it in like 6 or 7 years...doing it all over again was such a thrill, and it was as exciting as it had been from when I was a teenager. 29. Do you have any dividers or folders with any tabs on them? Just on my laptop haha, nothing physical. 30. Did your parents keep close tabs on you when you were a teenager? Initially, but they gradually let go the older I got. 31. How high has your bar tab been? Idk, maybe a little over ₱3000? I remember how my friends and I ended up buying a crap load of pitchers and bar food from our usual bar once since we ended up really enjoying our time there. 32. Have you ever made jewelry out of the silver tabs on soda cans? Nope. [a-zebra-is-a-striped-horse]

#survey #surveys

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sun-spark · 5 years ago

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Shadow's of the Past Haunt and Creative Monsters Hide

In celebration of a new Sander Sides Episode, I finally finished editing the 36 page fic that has been completed since March of 2018. Yes, 2 years. No, don’t ask and take it up with my depression.

Summary:

Directly 'After Can Lying Be Good?' Thomas and the sides make an effort to accept Deceit as part of their famILY and see past his function to his personality, much like they did with Virgil, not wanting to have a repeat of when the anxious trait had disappeared with Deceit. As the half-snake gets more comfortable with them Thomas starts to notice that he is always tense, waiting for something, and he intends to find out what it is. Before he can ask carefully the thing Deceit was afraid of comes back from eh past to haunt them all.

The mysterious thing from Deceit and Virgil's isn't the only thing to return, as Roman loses control and is forced to deal with his other half, long hidden and unknown to the others...well most of them.

Warnings: Reference/Past Abuse (Verbal, Physical, Emotional) - This is stated not described.

Tags: Sympathetic Deceit, Protective Thomas, Protective Virgil, Protective Roman, Protective Logan, Caring Patton, Hurt Deceit, Hurt Roman, Hurt Virgil, Hidden Side, Hurt/Comfort, FamILY, Healing, Trauma, Trauma Recovery, Angst.

Ao3 Link: Here

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

It was hardly easy, but Thomas had been making an effort to make Deceit feel like part of the family, as had the others, not wishing to repeat what had happened with Virgil. True, none of them were particularly fond of what he represented, but they attempted to set aside his function and focus on the person behind it, and they had to admit that sometimes his function was self-preservation for Thomas’ sake rather than a source of darkness. It was a rocky journey to be sure, unlearning stiff morals they’d had ingrained from childhood. It had taken some time for Deceit to drop his walls and let them in, to stop snarling and spitting lies dripping with cruelty every time they addressed him.

Things were better, though still tense. Patton took to it the best, practically shoveling food at his new ‘snakey-kiddo’ when he realized how thin he was, and layering blankets on top of him at every random interval. The abrupt and energetic affection made Deceit jumpy and elicited many hisses out of him, but he soon learned to just accept it, startling a bit and settling with an eye-roll as Patton bumbled around him affectionately.

Logan had “seen the logic in treating the other as a member of the group rather than ostracizing him, after all his function is not to harm you or us, Thomas” and had, as such, made an effort to converse with the lying trait whenever possible. It had been frustrating for both of them, Deceit not used to calm conversation that didn’t hide danger, and Logan annoyed at having to flip all of Deceit’s words around to mean the opposite. It didn’t help when Patton laughed gleefully and said he was “proud of his kiddos for playing opposites!”

Virgil, oddly, had been both the worst and the best of them. He knew what it was like to be shunned and hated for a nature he couldn’t change, but Deceit’s very nature made him uneasy. Their attempts at cohabitation had been halting and tense at first, but eventually they settled into a truce on the common ground of them both acting to keep Thomas safe above all else, even if neither of them liked how the other went about it. These two could often be found silently curled up near each other, sharing the silence as they read or scrolled through their phones. To the others, it seemed tense, but Deceit and Virgil both appreciated the calm nature of their time together.

Thomas had shocked all of them when he had not only been the first one to suggest they include Deceit, but when he had gone the extra length of summoning the half-snake for the sole purpose of keeping him company. All of them, especially Deceit, had expected their host to be hostile towards the manifestation of his deception, but apparently the young man’s kindness had won over his apprehension.

Deceit spent nearly a month waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Patton to disown him, which had admittedly come to a few close calls with the strict-moral compass the side had. Waiting for Logan to snap and yell at him in anger, shunning him permanently and attacking his core with cold facts. Waiting for Virgil to finally bare his teeth and tear at him with claws and teeth alike. Waiting for Thomas to either admit it was helpless or drop the charade of pretending he didn’t despise everything Deceit was. But it never happened, none of it, and, albeit haltingly, Deceit started to hope that maybe he was truly welcome.

The only problem was Roman, and Thomas became aware of this as Deceit began popping up more and more often, unbidden and uncalled. He didn’t really mind, the half-snake wasn’t obtrusive, and he seemed kind of lonely when he first showed up, though he denied that relentlessly. At first, he thought his Deceitful side was just more comfortable with him, that he was beginning to feel more included, and that had made him happy, but then little things had started to catch his notice. Deceit still startled when Patton popped up, but he began looking around with wide eyes, every muscles tense, as if waiting for an attack, even though Patton wanted nothing more than to wrap him in blankets, knowing the half-snake ran cold. He tensed when Logan rose up to speak with him, eyes darting to the corner nervously as he carried on the conversation, and Thomas watched, noting how he seemed ready to bolt. When Virgil appeared and flopped on the couch next to him, Deceit jumped before settling, but his eyes stayed on the tv, though nothing played on its black surface. Thomas hung back and observed, frowning as the progress they had made seemed to be erasing itself, replaced with an ever-growing fear.

He had pulled Virgil aside briefly and asked him about it, but the dark trait had only shrugged. “He’s worried about somethin’. Darn near terrified, but I dunno what.”

That hadn’t been the answer he wanted, but it was the only one Virgil had to give, so Thomas resigned himself to watching and taking note of Deceit’s reactions to, and interactions with, the others. He watched for nearly another month after the first, silently taking it all in to examine later. More than one night found him without sleep as the niggling pit of worry in his stomach kept his focus. As he stared at his ceiling late in the night, he would examined Deceit’s reactions to each side in turn, and how their interactions had changed. Thing was, at nearly three months since they had accepted him as part of the family, they hadn’t changed in any massive way. He still quietly submitted to Patton’s excessive affection with eye-rolls and snarky comments. He still sat in companionable silence with Virgil with occasional conversation and sibling-esq bickering. He still debated with Logan, and while that had not become less tense, it also had not become more so. He and Roman…Thomas sat up wide-eyed with realization.

Three months and he had never seen Deceit interact with Roman outside of a few videos. Indeed, the snake-like side had always managed to disappear when the fanciful side showed up to talk with Thomas or one of the others when they were manifested. He would go silent and slip away as quietly as he could, while Roman held the attention of everyone else, not to reappear until Roman was gone once again. He thought about it for a moment, a sick feeling twisting in his gut. When one side showed up Deceit would scan the area where the others normally stood, as well as the rest of the room, before turning his attention to his companion, panic lessening only when his scan was complete. His eyes were always drawn to the corner, to the tv, whether it played something or not...where Roman usually stood. Thomas had seen that mentions of Disney or theatre, or any point that usually sparked an argument with the creative trait elicited muted panic from Deceit. He just hadn’t made the connection, assuming that Deceit either didn’t enjoy Disney films or loud conflict.

Thomas frowned as he lay back down. Was Roman acting toward Deceit as he once had Virgil? He had hoped that Roman had learned better than that by now. Or perhaps things were merely tense between them because of Deceit’s manipulation of the creative trait months ago? He wanted an answer to these questions, but…. he sighed, he wasn’t going to summon them and risk accidentally cornering Deceit and making him panic with his queries. Or getting Roman defensive and hostile. He would wait, he wasn’t sure for how long, but he needed a better plan than that.

***

As fate would have it, finicky mistress with a twisted sense of humor that she was, he never got to make a better plan, though he did get the answers to his questions, just not how he would have liked.

Very rarely did all the sides, or even more than one or two of them, gather in Thomas’s physical living room if they were not filming a video or if he wasn’t having a crisis, but today was different. Thomas was relaxing on the couch, Logan was reading a novel in the armchair, Patton was ‘doing’ a puzzle on the floor, meaning he was haphazardly putting the pieces together, Virgil was curled up on the other couch on his phone, and Deceit was contentedly curled up under Thomas’s arm like an adorable puppy, half asleep. He’d figured out rather quickly after Deceit had started to trust them that the half-snake trait got cold very easily and would take almost any excuse to leech body heat from someone else, not that Thomas or Virgil, his usual ‘victims’, minded. The only one missing from their gathering was Roman. That was soon to change as the Prince rose in his regular spot, boisterous voice filling the room without warning.

“Thomas! About the next video, I was just thinking, and we should totally-“ he stopped as his eyes fell on Deceit, who had gone tense and wide-eyed but was unable to sink out, held as he was to Thomas’s side. Roman crossed his arms over his chest, both eyes and tone falling flat and cold. “What is he doing here?”

Thomas’s brow tic’ed up as he looked at Roman, his own voice betraying nothing of his sudden annoyance. “He spends quite a bit of time here, Roman, which you’d know if you spent any time with him.” It was a mild reproach for not making an effort, and he certainly wasn’t expecting the response he got as the prince’s eyes quite literally flashed an amber color in anger before returning to brown.

“Spend time with him?” Ah, well, storms were so often calm before they roared. “Why the hell would I want to spend time with that vermin?!” The prince spat. Deceit curled into Thomas’s side as Virgil grit his teeth, unconsciously settling into a tense posture, fight or flight gearing up. To his side, Logan set his book down, cold steel in calm eyes as he gazed between Roman and Deceit. Patton went still, trembling as if sadness and anger and shock were warring inside him and he couldn’t decide which to settle on. Thomas leveled a glare at roman.

“What. Was. That?” Virgil flinched minutely, having never heard such an icy hard tone from the normally joyful man, but Thomas paid him no mind as his attention remained on a now agog Roman. The fanciful side recovered from his shock quickly, red flushing his features with anger, venom rivaling any snake’s lacing his words. “You heard me, Thomas.” He scoffed “I have no wish to consort with the likes of that snake. I fail to see why you would!”

Thomas tightened his arm around Deceit ever so slightly, stopping the increasingly nervous side from leaving. “I wish to spend time with Deceit because he is a part of me. Part of me that I care about. And he is far more than his job Roman, which you would know if you made any effort to know him.”

Roman scoffed, a hand waving through the air dismissively. “Oh please, Thomas! He is a villain. There is not a single good thing he can do. All he does is lie and hurt us, and you, and your friends when he influences you! He is a dark side!”

No one noticed Virgil flinch a second time, wounded eyes glaring at Roman. Deceit couldn’t take anymore, he had had enough. He lurched off the couch, tearing himself from Thomas’s grip, teeth bared and eyes glaring furiously as he stood before Roman, the several feet between them irrelevant as he spat. “And you most certainly aren’t one yourself, Pride!”

Deceit went still, his eyes going wide as the blood drained from his face. He clapped a hand over his own mouth, terror at his own words clear as he began shaking. Logan stared at him, emotionless and evaluating, while Patton was momentarily jolted out of his inner conflict for sorrow or rage by shock. Virgil jolted into a standing position, fight or flight thrown into overdrive to the point of short-circuiting, eyes widening to show more white than color as his gaze locked onto Roman, seeing him in a way he hadn’t before. Roman, for his part, had gone still, ice creeping in where a moment ago there had been fire. Everything remained still a moment, a single long echoing click sounding through the room as the clock’s hand moved, before the tense silence was broken as Roman audibly snarled. He lunged forward and grasped the sides of Deceit’s collar, lips pulled back in a snarl. “You take that back you foul creature! I am not like you!”

Thomas stood quickly, Roman’s name catching on his tongue, as Virgil made a jerky movement forward and halted again, fight to flight unsure how to handle the current situation as memories of another royal side flooded his memory, blocking his desperate wish to protect Deceit. Patton stood with a cry of “Roman-!” but stumbled and Logan gripped the sides of his chair with white knuckles, eyes fastened unblinkingly on the dispute before him, ready to move should he need to, but unwilling to act before he understood what the hell was going on.

Deceit, despite his trembling, bit back his fear, figuring the only way to handle this was to face the monster he had just unchained, though his anger may have fueled that particular, ill-advised, plan. He pulled his lips back in a snarl of his own, glaring furiously at the other. “What? Don’t want everyone else to see you for who you aren’t?” He got his footing, regaining his balance despite Roman’s hold on him. “Or don’t you want to not look at yourself?” His tone turned mocking, despite the hatred in his sneer and the fear in his chest. “Pity, you used to ~love~ nothing more, what with all those mirrors you didn’t used to have in your room, Pride.”

Roman’s eyes flashed in pure rage, a snarling growl wrenching out of his throat as he pulled Deceit closer to him roughly, one hand raised into a fist as if to strike the smaller side. “That is not my name!” He roared furiously.

Deceit looked up into no longer brown eyes, seeing the chains falling away and the creature so long caged inside coming out. He began to shake in earnest, mindless terror wiping any trace of bravery from his being.

Thomas moved, quickly grabbing hold of Deceit’s shoulders and pulling him back sharply, resulting in the smaller stumbling back and landing against their host’s chest. Thomas’s arms encircled him protectively as he stared at the enraged side before him, shock, but not quite fear lancing through his tone. “Roman! That is enough!”

The side in questions growled, stalking forward a step, his eyes only for Deceit. Patton’s eyes caught on Roman’s chest and he stumbled up from the floor, a cry on his lips as worry won out over rage and sorrow both. “Roman, stop it!” He made to grab the other, but Logan stood swiftly, an arm outstretched to stop the movement. Patton stopped and stared at him wide-eyed, Logan only shook his head silently. The moral side swallowed thickly and nodded, holding still. Thomas bared his teeth. “Princey, I’m warning you, enough already!”

The royal trait paid him no mind, gaze locked on the half-snake trait who was pressing back against Thomas fearfully, yet meeting his eyes defiantly. He’d be damned if he was going to go out sniveling. Virgil’s fight-or-flight response finally pulled out of its spiraling nose dive and he jolted forward through the step he had frozen halfway through. He stared at Roman, eyes wide with fright, chest beginning to heave in preparation to hyperventilate, still, he kept his tone even, dripping in panic though it was. “Roman.” The other didn’t acknowledge him. ‘Damn it. He can’t be! Please, he can’t!! …but his eyes…’ he took a shaky breath and stalled his mounting panic.

“Roman. Your eyes are red.” Red. Orange. Gold. Amber. Colored like fire and shifting wildly in rage.

Roman jerked back as if physically struck, eyes breaking away from Deceit and flying to Virgil in near panic. “No.” His voice was tight, fear coating it, freezing the flames of his rage. ‘nononononono!!! Not again! No! This can’t be happening….this is just a nightmare! Not real, notrealnotrealnotrealnonononono!’ he stumbled back, hands tangling in his own hair as his breaths began to come in short bursts, half the words in his head, the other mumbled frantically.

Patton’s timid voice filtered through his racing thoughts from where the father figure was protectively held behind Logan’s side. “Ro…what’s wrong with your chest?”

Roman’s eyes flew to his chest, wide and panicked, and took in a sight he’d hoped never to see again. An inky blackness was seeping through his pristine white clothes, a pinprick starting over his heart, spreading out like an oil spill. It clung to him and stretched, arching away from his body like a living darkness. He stumbled back another step, panic clear in every line of his body as his hands frantically clawed at the darkness, trying desperately to tear it away from himself. “N-no! I-I” His eyes flew to Thomas and back to his chest. “I-I have to go!”

He popped out of existence in the manner Virgil and Deceit did, not risking the time it would have taken to sink out, ignoring frantic twin calls of his name from Patton and Thomas. He reappeared in his theatre, center stage under blinding spotlights, the world around him a haze of yellow light and the blurred shapes of the darkened auditorium.

He looked down at his chest and his thought were overrun by panic.

‘No, not again!’

Inky blackness, living darkness.

‘I threw you out! Not again!’

Rising from his breast, from his heart.

‘I can’t!’

It arches around him, living, breathing,

‘I banished you!’

It slid over his skin, caressing him, surrounding him, he tore at it, felt it choking him.

Y-you can’t have me, not again!’

Like the greeting of a lover,

‘D-don't! Stop!’

It covered him, suffocated him, he couldn’t claw it off,

‘Leave me alone!’

It seeped into his skin, slid down his throat, choking him, poisoning him as it filled his being.

‘I don’t want this, not again!’

It swirled around him in a vortex of darkness, sinking into him and changing him, warping him into something else. When all stood still, silence reigned.

‘Well hello there~.’

Where Roman had stood was a slightly taller man, dressed in black robes not unlike those the creative side normally wore, intricate golden buttons and cords decorating the fabric, and a crimson cape draped around his shoulders in place of the scarlet sash the prince was known for, falling to brush the heels of polished black boots trimmed with delicate golden chains. The spotlights fell on him, their light striking perfect skin and sharper features, pale pink lips curled in a sharp smile. He stood tall, chin held high, power radiating from his posture. A crown of silver and black rested on his head, impossibly deep, blood-red jewels set around its circumference, sucking in all the light that hit them.

“Roman. Roman!”

The figure cocked his head to the side jerkily. He hadn’t been able to hear the calls during his transformation, but now that he looked, he could see the others and their host standing on the side of the stage, watching him in varying degrees of shock, curiosity and horror. His moves were lithe and graceful as he turned dark flame-red eyes on them.

“Well, well, what have we here?” He purred in a voice deep and soft like velvet, it felt like ice sliding down Virgil’s spine, clawed poison stealing his breath away while it snapped his spine. The man grinned as he stepped toward them, swaying with easy poise, presence filling the room in a manner that the great actors could only dream of achieving, and he purred, “Come to watch the show~?”

He stepped closer to them but did not leave the circle of light radiating from the spotlights, still standing center stage. His red gaze fell on Deceit and he sneered, voice cold and arrogant. “I suppose I ought to thank you for releasing me,” he sniffed turning his head away dismissively, “but I don’t make a habit of showing such kindnesses to lowly creatures such as you.”

Deceit, hiding behind Thomas, shrank back with a whimper, stumbling into the curtain as his body shook violently. Virgil’s protective instincts kicked in, overruling the dire need to run as far away from this thing as he could, and he stepped in front of the other, arms raised protectively as he stared wide-eyed at what had been Roman, panic racing in his veins. They both remembered quite well what this creature had considered ‘kindness’ to ‘lesser’ creatures, and the memories paralyzed them.

Thomas’s eyes flicked back to them in concern but wisely focused back on center stage. Perhaps not as wisely, he stepped forward and cleared his throat before meeting the stranger’s eyes. “What is going on?”

The figure smiled brightly, “Oh just a show, that’s all!” He said it almost jovially as he turned toward the front of the stage, half facing them, flicking a hand dismissively. “Any great actor must master the art of transformation, as you’ve just witnessed. Sadly,” he sighed forlornly, but the smirk on his face was smug “few ever manage it~.”

Thomas frowned and went to speak but a second whimper cut him off, louder and more pitiful than terrified as Deceit’s had been. It emanated from a distraught Patton who was being held back once again by Logan’s outstretched arm. “Roman? Kiddo?”

The figure sneered disdainfully, and Virgil spoke up, the words he’d been trying to form finally spilling from his lips, squeezing their way through a panic choked throat. “Th-that’s not Roman Patt, tha-that’s-” he choked off, breathes coming too quick and short to speak as flaring red eyes gazed coldly into his own. Deceit’s shaky voice sounded from behind him, filled with more terror than either logic or morality had ever thought possible, a whisper, a whimper, and a scream crushed together in his vocal cords to create this single syllable. “Pride.”

With all eyes back on him in varying degrees of concern, alarm, and fear, what once was Roman rolled his eyes. “Well!” He huffed “That introduction was just dismal!” He smiled wide and turned back to face Thomas, grace and arrogance dripping from his every pore as he raised a hand in a graceful arc so like the prince’s normal gestures but so much more sinister. “But indeed, I am ~Pride~.” He finished with a flare, and one might think he would have bowed dramatically with a sweeping gesture, but this man did not bow to anyone, not even his host.

Thomas glanced at the sides behind him, worry for their safety overtaking his penchant for resolving things with humor. He took a deep breath to steady himself and forced his eyes to meet those of Pride. “Roman? What is going on?”

The figure sneered. “‘Roman’?” He scoffed and waved a hand as if batting the offending name from the air. “What a pathetic name.” He drawled, “No, I am Romulus.” He finished dramatically, holding himself up like a king over his subjects.

Logan stood in preemptive protection before Patton, hummed as he often did before providing information. “‘Romulus’. Founder and first king of Rome. Considered in Roman myth to be among the most powerful and impressive men to ever live. Blessed by the divine and raised by wolves. Stronger and more accomplished than any general who followed after him. Killer of his own brother and descendant of the Roman gods and both Latin and Greek nobility.” Romulus smirked, but Logan continued, voice sharp. “Also one of the most highly conceited and foolish men to ever exist, if indeed he ever did.” The dark man sneered and looked as if he might leave his precious circle of light, if only long enough to strike Logan.

Thomas side-stepped ever so slightly and placed himself in front of the others as if to block them from Pride’s gaze. He pressed his lips together unhappily, keeping his tone even. “Where is Roman?”

A scoff preceded his answer. “I am Roman. Or rather, he is me, I came first after all.”

“Then why are you…. this version of you…here now?

The other hummed, tilting his head and swaying side to side as if bored with the whole conversation. “I simply saw no reason to continue as I was. Denying myself was quite…detrimental…” he frowned at speaking negatively of himself. “to my success. Honestly, why I ever bothered subduing myself so others would feel less inferior,” He broke off with a scoff and a shake of his head, burning red eyes glaring at Virgil and Deceit. “I’ll never know.” He waved a hand dismissively as he turned away, moving as if half remembering a dance. “But no need to worry Thomas! The work you share with the world will be beyond adequate, rather, it will be quite spectacular now that I no longer see a need to play nice.”

Thomas frowned but attempted the gentler approach he normally took when one of his traits was acting out. “Wha- hey now, no need for that. I’m sure we can all get along just fine without anyone feeling inferior.”

Pride rolled his eyes while Virgil grit his teeth, forcing out words past his chocking panic. “Thomas.” Brown eyes focused on the anxious trait curiously, and worriedly at the strangled sound. “He…he won’t listen… he’s Pride!” He said the name almost frantically, as if trying to convey the sheer depths of his terror through that one word alone. “He thrives off feeling superior…I…. we…” his voice broke and he stopped to take a breath. “Pride doesn’t play well with others Thomas, he can’t, not knowing he can never be good at their roles.” He had intended to say more but a vicious snarl cut him off and he flinched back violently, lowering into a crouch and pressing back against Deceit, who clung to him from behind, eyes flying to where Pride stood, fist curled at his side, looking for all the world like he might just cross the stage and attack Virgil.

“I thought I taught you manners brat.” He spat the cruel nickname, “or do you need to be taught again? You and your” he adopted a high, squeaky, mocking voice, as he tilted his head condescendingly, “precious little snake~?”

“Now that is enough!” Pride’s eyes tracked to Patton, the fatherly figure having stepped out from behind Logan just a bit, fists balled at his sides and anger in his eyes as his whole body trembled from the force of it. “You have no right to come here and threaten our family. Even Roman wouldn’t cross that line!”

Pride smiled, mocking and sickeningly sweet, bouncing once on the balls of his feet and clapping three times in mock excitement - a mockery of Patton’s usual gestures. “Oh Morality, so you finally grew a spine, hmm? Shame it doesn’t make an appearance when your lungs are being crushed by depression, eh?” His smile grew wider, sharper, as Patton flinched back. “How dismal a job you do Morality, too bloody broken and malfunctioning under your own emotions to even work properly.” His eyes and voice took on a hard glint. “If you can’t stand up straight and do your job, maybe we should remove that spine of yours and let someone else do it, hmm?”

Patton shrunk back with a whimper and Logan stepped in front of him with a frown. “Surely your functions do not require harming the other facets of Thomas’s personality? What purpose could this possibly serve?”

Pride paused, tilting his head to the side in contemplation, a neutral expression sliding over his face. “Logic. Perhaps the only one I have no issue with. You work well, and you take great pleasure in your work, carrying it out efficiently and with dignity. Tsk.” He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing as he shook his head in disappointment. “But you can’t even make yourself heard without someone else to silence the drivel. Shame really, that you conflict with my goals. You’ll learn to be silent, even if I have to remove your vocal cords.” He smiled sweetly, saying it like a child who just told their mom they just saw the most amazing thing. Thomas’s back straightened and he lifted his chin, fear-driven defiance taking root, but he was stopped before he could speak as Pride let out a series of high, childlike laughs.

“Oh, don’t worry yourself, Thomas!” He shot a look at Virgil and smiled sickeningly sweet and cruel, making the other cower. “There won’t be any reason to soon enough~.” He laughed then pouted playfully. “It really is all for the best, you just don’t take any real Pride in your function or your work.” He smiled, wide and sharp and deadly, playfulness gone and replaced with cold cruelty, voice falling to a deep and melodic tenor, hypnotizing. “We’ll fix that.”

He took a step forward, towards the group.

‘NO!’

He stumbled as the shout both sounded through his mind and echoed through the theater, resonating through every cell of his being.

‘No! You can’t!’

His form began to blur and he clutched at his own chest. “What the hell?!”

‘I won’t let you’

As the others watched, the dark kingly form began to pull away, separating from the prince beneath like a specter.

‘You do enough damage in me! You don’t get to come out and do more!’

A violent gust of wind nearly blew them back, forcing them to close their eyes as dust flew up from the stage. When they looked again four gasps and a fifth grunt of surprise sounded, echoing through the empty room.

Roman was kneeling center stage, slumped over and panting, face turned up to stare brokenly at the dark form of pride, hovering in the air above him like smoke, form flickering and almost transparent. Only his top half was manifested, while what should have been his bottom half turned into inky darkness at his waist, curling elegantly down like smoke and toward the other, connecting him to Roman in slimy tendrils that stabbed their way through his black shirt, into his chest.

It appeared very much like a broken man facing a spirit that had been possessing him, now forced partially from his body. Distantly Virgil’s snark informed him that Hamlet would be proud.

Pride scowled down at Roman, seemingly more annoyed than bothered. Roman panted and grit his teeth, voice a whisper, rough as sandpaper. “No.”

Pride scoffed, his voice sounding musical even in that harsh sound, while Roman sounded as if he had been screaming a thousand years without reprieve. “‘No’? Whatever do you mean by that~? Not ready for the performance to end?” He smirked, voice turning sickly sweet and cruel. “Don’t worry~…. There’ll be plenty more~”

Roman’s eyes flashed, the golden orange of a sunrise instead of bloody red. “No!” He clutched his side and coughed, red speckling the ground before him. He paid it no mind as he glared up at Pride, snarling. “You do enough damage without a physical form! You’ll not take one and harm them!”

Pride snarled, leaning down inches from Roman’s face. “You can’t even move, and you think you have any say in this?” He hissed furiously, then straightened back up, pouting like a disappointed teacher. “Tsk. How unsightly, arguing with yourself!”

Roman flinched but continued to glare, unfalteringly, up at the other, coughing up more red. “We are not the same.” The specks of red began to pool into small drops on the floor.

His counterpart laughed, a magical sound like a hundred musical bells in a summer breeze. “Oh Roman, Roman, Roman!” He leaned down, grasping the prince’s chin harshly, tilting his head back painfully, and looking him in the eye. “I. Am. You.” He tilted his head to the side, smiling in a manner that might have been kind, as one might smile at a child they found endearing, but its sharp edges spoke of nothing but malice. “Good thing too~ lucky little prince you are.” He released Roman’s chin with a snap of his wrist, nearly giving the man whiplash, standing back up with a click of his tongue. “Could you imagine any of them being a king?” He scoffed “No. They are far too flawed to hold such an honor.”

Roman stared down at the floor with a broken expression on his face, small trails of blood dripping from his lips. “You couldn’t handle being imperfect, could you?” He whispered. Pride just hummed and turned away from him as far as he could while they were connected, flipping a hand dismissively. “Why should I? There is not an imperfect thing about me. Something you should be grateful for, seeing as I am quite literally, you. I don’t know why you bother to hide it. You’re a subpar actor Roman, hardly a creator at all, simply stunted while you deny your nature.” He hummed as if in thought. Logan wondered if this is what it was like to stare up at a madman before they dissected you. “We’ll have to fix that as well.”

Roman looked up at him, gazing past him with hazy vision to see his family cowering. Logan holding onto a crying Patton, Virgil crouched protectively in front of a terrified Deceit, the both of them shaking in fear, all of them cowering behind Thomas…Thomas…his host was staring at him, not at Pride, but at him. He stood straight, almost relaxed, staring and somber. Roman couldn’t read his expression, and that alone stabbed pain into his gut. He looked back at Pride, expression withdrawn and resigned. “A King?” He whispered, a small sound, so much like an unsure child.

Pride smirked, not turning back to him. “Yes. The little prince could be a king again, perfect and powerful.” he said in a sing-song manner before his voice started dripping honey “Wouldn’t you like that Roman?”

Roman raised a shaky hand, grasping the crown on his head and bringing it down to chest level. He held it there between shaking palms as he stared at it. Perhaps it was his imagination, too many hours spent in the theatre, but the weight of his family and host’s stares seemed so heavy they might crush his lungs, their fear so thick in the air it was stifling. He gripped the crown tightly and twisted, muscles straining and protesting, ignoring the blood that spilled as his fingers slid over the sharpened edges of the steel spires. The metal creaked and Roman strained. The crown snapped in half, the metallic ‘schlink’ echoing through the auditorium, seemingly endless. He gripped the halves in shaking hands as Pride spun around to face him, surprise etched on his face. He let them fall, the two halves falling with his blood, the hollow ‘thunk’ as it hit the wood of the stage marking the moment he met Pride’s eyes. “Some princes don’t become kings.” He meant to spit it vehemently, but it came out surreally calm and hoarse.

Pride stared, then he laughed. “You think breaking your crown makes you any less a king?!” He laughed again “You were never a prince, Roman! You only pretended to be, dressed in white, no crown on your head. Another part executed nearly perfectly.” He leaned over and picked up the edge of roman’s cloak, holding it up. “But your true colors shine through, don’t they, majesty?” The last word was taunting as he stood again, letting the edge of the cape fall, lazily through the air, settling over Roman’s bloodied hands.

Roman stared at it, watching his blood seep into the fabric, barely darkening the crimson cloak. His eyes fell to his own chest, to the black fabric there, taunting him with its symbolism. His hands lifted of their own accord, before the thought was finished, and fisted in the fabric. He pulled, the cloth tearing under the force, and he tossed it away, shirt and cloak landing a few feet away. He sat there, bare-chested, and met pride’s eyes again, expecting anger, but the other merely clicked his tongue and shook his head, seemingly amused with this all.

“Such a petulant child! Clothes don’t make the king, Roman. They aren’t part of you, they simply hide you from prying eyes, an indication of status.” He chuckled, light and airy as it was dark and terrifying. “Honestly, if perfection was always on display, lesser creatures would never get anything done!” He scoffed then, staring down his nose at Roman with disdain. “Stop being such a child.”

Roman dropped his hand to his knee, palm up and open, summing an ornate dagger to his hand. A gleaming silver blade the length of his hand melted into a golden handle, carved in intricate designs and inlaid with shining jewels. He held it up at chest level, slowly twirling it around in his hand, examining it without expression. Inwardly he snorted, ‘So dramatic. Even now.’

Pride raised a brow at him, sneering at him from where he hovered, hands folded behind his back in an almost military style. “And what are you going to do with that? Stab me? You’ll just harm yourself you fool.”

Roman pulled his lips back in a snarl, the first expression he’d shown since his outburst. “No.” He raised the blade to the side of his face, laying its side against his temple. He held the other’s gaze, tone mocking. “But then, you can’t stand imperfection, can you?” He brought the blade down swiftly, cutting a gash that ran from his forehead to his chin, cutting over the corner of his eye but barely missing the eye itself. He cried out and dropped the blade, pressing his hands to his face and curling into himself in pain as blood flowed from the wound.

Pride screeched in rage, all pretenses of grace or elegance cast aside, lunging forward with hands reaching out toward Roman in claws. “Damn you!” He broke apart as he fell, fracturing into smoke that settled over Roman’s back, seeping into him and settling under his skin.

Roman sat where he was, curled tightly into himself, shoulders shaking in quiet sobs.

It took a moment for the others to react, for them to comprehend what they had just witnessed and for them to process it. Deceit slowly uncurled himself, clutching to the back of Virgil’s hoodie as he whispered, “Is he not gone?” Virgil nodded softly, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat, “Yeah, I think he is.” The two slowly uncurled themselves from their defensive positions, adrenaline still coursing through their veins in anticipation.

Patton unlatched himself from Logan’s side and tried to run forward, but he stumbled for the tears in his eyes. Logan caught him round the waist and the moral trait held onto him, eyes not leaving Roman’s figure as he cried. “Is he alright?!”

“I believe he will be Patton, but I cannot know that without examining him.”

Patton made to move again but fear held him back and he froze with a whimper, “Is…is Pride…?”

Logan nodded curtly. “I don’t believe he will return any time soon, but I cannot be sure.”

Thomas remained silent in all of this, though it was only a mere few seconds, watching everything happen. He released the breath he was holding quietly and walked forward when the others could not on their own, luckily, he wasn’t any of them, he was all of them. He sank to his knees next to Roman softly, not wishing to startle the distraught side, and gently laid a hand on the other’s back. “Roman?”

The side in question flinched at the touch, whimpering pitifully and curling into himself more tightly.

“Roman, it’s ok.” He rubbed his thumb over Roman’s shoulder comfortingly. “Whatever just happened, we’ll figure it out, ok? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that all of that wasn’t in your control. It’s gonna be alright.”

A whimper and a choked sob were his answer. He sighed, not wanting to push the issue, but he could see crimson blood slowly spreading over the floor and he knew he couldn’t leave this until Roman was ready, the wound couldn’t wait that long. He gently grasped Roman’s chin and lifted his face, meeting his utterly destroyed expression with one of near serenity and concern. “Roman. You have to look at me. We have to take care of that cut.”

Roman’s eyes met his briefly, but the creative side flinched, and they jerked away to land, unseeingly out at the rows of seats. Thomas didn’t sigh, he didn’t reprimand him, he didn’t react in any negative way, merely tilted his head a bit to the side, kept his eyes on Roman’s looking away from him, and spoke softly, more breathing the word than speaking it. “Ro.”

Roman whimpered quietly, eyes falling shut as he twitched, body seeming to want to fold in on itself but frozen in place under his host’s gaze. The nickname had broken something in him though, the need to hide overcome by a wish to do what was asked of him. He opened his mouth but only a choked sound came from his throat, prompting new tears. He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop them from falling and gritted his teeth, nodding once tersely.

Thomas sighed lightly through his nose and sat back a bit, turning his gaze to the others, taking note of each of them in turn as he curled his hand over the back of Roman’s neck, comforting and firm, grounding.

Logan’s eyes were cold as he stood at near military attention, but not emotionless. Thomas knew this was Logan’s care for the others manifesting in a protective need to understand everything, so he could defend them from harm, logic cold and unbending as steel. But where there was wariness, there was no anger.

Behind him was Patton, hunched in on himself and pressed to Logan’s shoulder, hands fisted in the polo always pristine, now rumpled under the fatherly trait’s hands. Logan’s arm was still outstretched protectively, to keep Patton back and to place himself as a barrier between the other and any potential harm, it wasn’t straight through, it was curled backward, nearly wrapped around Patton. Morality’s eyes gazed out from behind thick glasses, worry and sorrowful pain mixed with a bit of hurt shone through unshed tears, as his teeth worried his lower lip. Thomas’s gaze moved on.

Deceit’s mismatched eyes laid on Roman, clear fear overpowering everything else, though concern peaked through at the edges. While Patton was barely hidden behind Logan, Deceit was barely visible from where he hid himself at Virgil’s back, hands fisted in the other’s jacket just under his shoulder blades, his nose tucked behind Virgil’s shoulder to reveal only the top of his head and those piercing eyes. He was scared, but Thomas could see he didn’t want to abandon the others, or, he suspected, Roman. Lastly, his gaze shifted to Virgil and he almost wanted to chuckle at the dual nature of everything about the side. He stood nearly as tense as Logan, arms at his sides and hands fisted, lips pulling back ever so slightly at the corners as if he wanted to snarl, his fight reflexes more than ready to tear any threat apart. Yet he pressed back against Deceit, as if he wanted to both shield the other and curl back into his chest, his shoulders were hunched ever so slightly inward with his chin tucking towards his chest, his legs too were tense, but they were angled as if to run away, so his flight reflexes too were overwhelmed. His eyes though were the oddest bit. Fear lit their edges, but the centers focused on Roman with such intensity that, if not for Thomas’s understanding of the anxious side’s nature, he wouldn’t have known if that gaze wanted to tear roman apart or mend him.

Thomas himself was more somber than normal, a rare jaded maturity replacing his playfulness. He wasn’t angry, in fact at the moment he wasn’t even upset, rather, it was as if an unearthly calm had settled over him. A need to protect those that felt more like family than mere aspects of his personality clashing with a need to mend and heal that one that was injured, spinning round and round until they merged. He released a second deep breath and turned his gaze back to Roman for a moment.

Roman was…scared. No…he was terrified and in pain, every line of his figure screamed it. Thomas shook his head minutely and let his eyes slip shut, centering himself silently he exercised a power he knew he had but didn’t fully understand. The world seemed to tilt slowly on its axis before righting itself upside down. When he opened his eyes again they were back in his living room. The others were all standing by the stairs while he and Roman found themselves kneeling in the center of the living room.

He breathed deeply, quietly, and centered himself. Gently he grasped Roman’s shoulders and made to lift him just a bit. “Roman.” He kept his voice soft, but the other flinched all the same “Roman, Let’s get you on the couch, ok?”

Roman didn’t answer, but he did get his feet under himself and try to stand. His legs were weak, and he stumbled immediately. Thomas had anticipated this and practically picked the other up, using the prince’s momentum to set him on the couch. Roman hunched into himself once again as soon as he was seated, legs curling close to his chest and shoulders hunching as his eyes pressed shut. Thomas knelt on the floor beside him, a hand on his shoulder, and paused a moment to send a searching glance over the others. From the corner of his eye he could see Logan standing close to his normal spot, merely further forward and closer to Virgil’s, turning himself ever so slightly to let Patton lean against the wall and still remain curled into the logical man’s side. Virgil was in his normal space, and he had herded Deceit to sit on one of the steps, the lying trait having done so but remained pressed forward, every line of his body making it clear he wanted to press himself into Virgil’s side and stay there. Virgil likely would have let him, but his protective instincts and fight or flight reflexes had him half knelt half crouched in front of the stairs, easily ready to spring up and run or come up swinging if needed, so he settled with reaching back to place a hand on Deceit’s arm in comfort. One of Deceit’s hands was nearly crushing Virgil’s. Both kept their eyes on Roman and Thomas, one fearful the other tense.

Thomas looked away from them all and closed his eyes again, breathing steadily, pushing down the sudden swell of sadness in his chest. The sides were something between imagination and reality, everything about them one step from nothingness and an equal step from solid form, Thomas knew this. He understood it on a base level and knew that it was the reason he could interact with them as he did. He also understood that the games the sides played, making sweaters and sheet music and rubiks cubes appear out of thin air was a similar concept. It didn’t come as easily to him as it did to them, but he could use that ability. After a few moments, he felt a weight settled in his empty hand resting against his leg and opened his eyes to find a first aid kit in his grasp. He didn’t question it, understanding that focusing too hard on the fact that this thing was only half real would make it fade. Instead, he turned his gaze and attention back to the creative trait.

“Roman.” He sounded as if he were talking to a frightened animal, intentionally gentle and conveying steady strength, but sure enough Roman flinched inward regardless. “I need to treat that cut. I need you to move your hand and let me clean it.”

Roman’s whimper was the quietest in existence, Thomas was sure. But he remained calm, no frustration in his tone, or even his mood. “Roman, you need to move your hand.” He let his hand trail slowly down Roman’s arm from his shoulder, then up to his wrist. There he gently curled his fingers around the other’s hand and applied a gentle yet firm pressure to pull the limb away. Roman was tense, but he didn’t fight him as Thomas pressed the hand against Roman’s leg, silently nudging the other to drop his legs as well.

Thomas scanned the wound with his eyes and frowned. Starting at the inside of Roman’s temple it dangerously skirted over the outer corner of his eye, bowed outward slightly on his cheek, and fell in a sharp line down past his chin. He was lucky the momentum hadn’t made the blade hit his throat. It wasn’t deep enough to be deadly, barely going beneath the layers of skin to the muscle beneath, but it was deep enough to worry the man, and certainly deep enough to scar. Gently squeezing Roman’s hand on the prince’s lap, both for reassurance and to make sure he kept it there, he opened the medical kit and retrieved the disinfectant and a few cloths.

Gently grasping the other’s chin, he tilted his head to give himself more room to work. He kept his hand there afterward to ensure Roman wouldn’t move. Silently he started at Roman’s temple and began cleaning the cut, taking great care around his eye. For a time, they sat in silence, the others slowly relaxing the tiniest amount, but not fully, where Thomas kept an eye on them in his peripheral vision. Roman sat still and tense, silent tears slipping from his closed eyes, his lower lip no longer trembling but nearly white from the pressure where it was trapped between his teeth. Thomas worked silently and carefully. For a time, the silence reigned, but once Thomas had reached Roman’s cheek he broke it, tone even and calm.

“So that was Pride. I know who, what he is…in theory…but who is he to you, Roman?”

Roman’s eyes flew open as he flinched and tried to look away, his whole body trying to recoil but he didn’t move far before Thomas’s grip stilled him. “He…I….” He closed his eyes again, voice choking with tears. “I was him… to start with…when you were younger, still a child.”

Thomas frowned as he continued to clean the cut, wincing as Roman flinched in pain. “Then why are there two of you? You’re my creativity, aren’t you? How can you be both?”

Roman’s eyes opened halfway, focusing on the floor before him without truly seeing it. The prince smiled, but there was no humor in it, just tired weariness. “None of us have only one function. I was…him…when you were a child, before your imagination grew, back when your fantasies and dreams were fueled by the creativity of your parents. Eventually, as all children do, you began to imagine on your own, without their stories….and you were so…proud” his voice hitched in pain, “of what you created, that eventually, I became creativity too.”

The host furrowed his brows as he began closing the wound and securing it with steri-strips. “Then why are you separate now?”

A small sound of sorrow and pain broke out of roman’s throat, tears brimming at his eyes that he held back. “I am your ego, Thomas, that hasn’t changed…. but as time went by things…changed. You…you began to love Disney, and it fueled the majority of your imagination, of my new role… you loved the princes and, as a child, loathed the villains…..” His quieted with sadness. “even as I was then, it did not take long to realize that I was the opposite of what you wished to be, despite now embodying your hopes and dreams, that I was, in fact, what you despised…. I did not wish to be that way. I…. I locked it away, that part of me, buried it beneath everything you ever wished to be, the traits of every prince you admired…”

He sighed and stopped talking as Thomas started bandaging his jaw. Perhaps sensing that Roman wasn’t finished, Thomas didn’t ask anything else yet. When he was finished he sat back and waited. Roman didn’t meet his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the floor and fidget, drawing his legs back up to his chest and hugging them tightly.

“I buried him so far that it ceased to be an act, that we truly became two halves of one being…. I…I despised him. I despised how he made me think and feel, how he pushed me to act…so I pushed him as far away as I could. It was never enough though, and you’ve seen him affect me, the days when ego and harshness overcome the rest of my being…” he sighed and tightened the death grip on his legs, hugging himself. “I don’t understand it completely myself, Thomas, hell, the day I appeared in the ‘light side’ of your mind was a shock. Somehow, through mutual loathing, we became separate enough that I was no longer Pride, but merely Creativity, that he was a separate entity that only affected you subconsciously…. not entirely separate though, as you did correctly deem me to also be your ego.”

Thomas stayed silent for a moment, gaze falling to the black mark over Roman’s heart. He frowned and pulled roman’s leg down, so he could run his fingers over it. Roman flinched and chuckled dryly, without humor. “We all have our dark marks…that…he, is mine.”

Thomas lifted his gaze to Roman’s, gaze narrowed in wariness and curiosity, but not hostility. “Why is it there?” Roman barked a humorless laugh. “Over my heart you mean?” Thomas’s silence was answer enough. Roman sighed and let his eyes fall shut again, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head hung forward. His voice the clearest it had been since this began, but quiet with weariness.

“You call Patton your heart, and you are not entirely wrong. Morality and ethos are matters that deal with the soul and empathy of a person, and the heart is indeed the metaphorical seat of both soul and emotion.” He let his hand fall without care and let his gaze rest on Patton where he stood tucked into Logan’s side, for the moment the prince was nearly emotionless save for sorrow and pain. “but he is not all of your heart, that is merely where he ‘lives’, if you will.” His eyes slipped shut as he sighed heavily. “Pride is against morality, it must be.”

His gaze dropped, and he looked toward Thomas but did not yet meet his gaze, instead staring just past his shoulder. “Pride earned is one thing, but arrogance is quite another. It poisons logic into believing you can do anything you damn well please and that you can rationalize anything. It silences caution and abuses deceit, turning you against yourself until you think you are invincible.” He winced minutely but ignored the twin flinches that came from Virgil and Deceit at the rather literal explanation of what Pride had done to them. His gaze fell back on Patton, voice bitter and sad. “And once it’s done that, it destroys your morality.” Patton shuddered and shrunk back. “You think you are invincible. You lie to yourself without knowing it. You believe you can rationalize anything into being right. You believe you are right, that you know best and that only you know best. You believe that anything you do is perfect and any criticism is beneath you.” He paused and sighed deeply. “And then…then you don’t care anymore.” His gaze slid down to the floor, blurring as his voice became thick with tears again. “You don’t care about the emotions of others, nor their well-being. Your ethics disintegrate, your empathy evaporates, and your morality is gone, replaced with something…something exactly its opposite.”

Roman’s voice had already been sorrowful and oddly resigned, but it took on a bitter tone that made Thomas realize the prince wasn’t just describing what pride could do to him, the host. But what it had been doing to Roman, even from the shadows. He set his gaze back on the mark above Roman’s heart, not liking the dark blood smeared around it. Silently, he set to cleaning it off the unmarked skin. “It only covers half your heart…” Roman hummed but it sounded choked. “Yeah, well, it covers enough of it.”

Thomas looked up at him, a brief glance before returning to his task. “He never stopped affecting you, did he?” He asked it lightly, but Roman still flinched. “N..no…. he didn’t…” Roman sighed. “Is that why you acted the way you did, before…?” Roman winced and hunched forward as far as he could while Thomas was cleaning the blood from his chest, head hung low. “Yes….” He sighed and opened his eyes to set his weary gaze on the floor, the patterning of the carpet swirling hazily in his vision.

“Morality…he could tolerate…begrudgingly…didn’t find much need to worry about him” Roman snorted softly. “Too arrogant to acknowledge how bloody scary Patton can be…Logic…he could live with, not concern himself with...” He pressed his eyes shut tight, voice catching. “but Anxiety and Deceit-“ his voice choked off and pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle the sob. It passed and he rubbed at his eyes. “he could not tolerate them. Their presence, their jobs, their very existence…. they were the two most dangerous to him…to his plans…..” A shudder wracked through Roman but he kept the sob back, voice going tight. “He couldn’t kill them either…. not for lack of trying…” at that a single sob did break free, but he immediately cut it off and took in a strangled breath, then cleared his throat.

He dropped his hand and once again stared blankly at the ground. “After we separated, well, as separated as we could be, he was content enough to be silent…even if he did do his best to put me intentionally at odds with Patton and Logan. But when Virgil –“ his voice broke. “when Virgil showed up…I couldn’t stop his influence anymore…I barely kept him from becoming dominant between us again.” His voice had trailed off into a broken whimper, so he stopped to steady himself. Thomas and the others let him.

Roman raised his head and looked toward Thomas, but did not let his gaze go past the man’s neck to his face, much less his eyes. “It took more strength than I possess, and more help than I would have liked, to treat Virgil even amicably. To my shame, I could do no more, but when Deceit…” he took a deep breath, eyes staring upward, ignoring the clear tears that flowed over their edges. “when Deceit came, I couldn’t…there was nothing I could do to keep him at bay anymore…my own anger at Deceit for his tricks did not help matters…so I hid. I avoided him…” he smiled wryly, a sick twist of his lips as his gaze fell again. “But anger left unfaced festers, and when I did finally see Deceit face to face again, my anger was enough that I wasn’t even conscious of how much P-pride was affecting me.” His gaze dropped in shame to the ground. “Deceit’s charge broke what little control I had left over him….” Roman swallowed thickly and looked away, staring unseeingly at the wall, away from everyone else. “it…it wasn’t their fault…they ne-never did anything… but they were the c-catalyst that let him out…and I couldn’t stop- couldn’t stop it…” the prince’s voice broke, fully this time, and he just barely held back sobs with a hand over his own mouth.

Thomas said nothing, nor did the others, though while they were in various stages of shock, Thomas was turning everything over in his head, considering and calculating everything. Absentmindedly he stroked his thumb over the inside of Roman’s wrist where his hand still rested around the other’s arm. His brows furrowed after a minute had passed.

“Roman, you separated from him, for lack of a better term, you locked him away. Why didn’t you separate completely?” Though there was no malice in the words, the oddly cool and neutral tone made Roman shudder. He shook his head minutely. “I do not even know if we could have, completely. We started as one being…I do not know how separate we are even now. But it was not for lack of trying.” He took a shaky breath, eyes fixed on his lap now. “It was not for lack of trying that we are still connected…. Years I spent trying to tear the anchor of him out of me…but I cannot… pain notwithstanding, I am not strong enough. Regardless, I eventually came to the conclusion how…foolish it would have been if I ever succeeded.”

Thomas’s eyebrow rose, the only change in expression, indeed in demeanor at all. “How’s that?”

Roman laughed, head tilted back, twisted lips pulled back over fractured teeth. It was a broken sound filled with shattered glass that made Patton wince and caused Virgil to shrink back ever so slightly into Deceit. Roman was broken. And as they watched where they stood, though they said nothing, each and every one of the four sides hanging back in caution, came to the same conclusion: they might not be able to fix him.

For the first time Roman’s gaze strayed closer to Thomas’s, but still could not quite meet it. “You’ve seen how much damage he did to me, Thomas, what he’s done as a whisper in your subconscious.” The second laugh sounded more like that of a mad man. “What the hell do you think he’d have done on his own?!” The laughter died and Roman hunched in on himself again, shaking his head as a man resigned to hang at the gallows. “No. Better he stay trapped within me. Better he hurt me, and only me, rather than have a manifested form of his own to hurt you.”

Roman was hunched in on himself, the hand not caught in Thomas’s grip rubbing absently at his ribs, a haunted and faraway look in his eyes. As Virgil watched from the sidelines pieces started to fall into place like a long-forgotten jigsaw puzzle scattered throughout the dusty corners of an attic. He stiffened, eyes going wide, and as Deceit gasped quietly behind him, he knew his old friend had followed the same train of thought to the same conclusion. Logan looked back at them curiously, having missed the signs he wouldn’t know to look for. Virgil swallowed thickly, voice trembling but strong as he called out to his longtime nemesis. “We’re not the only ones he hurt, are we Roman?”

Roman’s flinch and quick movement to curl himself into a tight ball, arms grasping his own chest as if in protection - even at the cost of ripping his hand out of Thomas’s, to the other’s great surprise - were the only answer the anxious trait needed. Deceit whimpered and it trailed off into a hiss of unhappiness and anger. Virgil was inclined to agree with that sentiment, but his normal reactions of growling or hissing wouldn’t achieve anything right now. Eyes even wider than they were before, he swallowed past the sudden feeling of crushed glass in his throat and asked a rather insensitive question in his shock. “H-how?! He…you…you share a body. How…?”

Roman shook almost violently but barked another laugh, even more broken than the previous two, this one filled only with pain, a deep and cutting pain that made one think of the wailing of an injured dog when heard. Thomas winced just as Patton did.

“The imagination can be such a wonderful thing… it’s where I go to battle beasts to find inspiration and create ideas…I can create anything there…escape there…hide there…” his voice became strained. “A place where anything can take shape isn’t always so wonderous….”

Logan’s eyes went wide, lips parting silently in an almost gasp. Patton did gasp, but it turned into a wretched sob as the two realized just what it was Virgil and Deceit had picked up on. Those two, for their part, looked at Roman in a new light. Not as the host to their abuser - though he had certainly been that - but as a victim the same as them. Thomas caught up with the four of them pretty quickly, in truth he had already known, but he hadn’t wanted to put the pieces together into such a gruesome picture. For the first time, his expression and tone showed emotion other than neutrality, softening and straining with grief. “So every time you went into the imagination to create things and come up with ideas…?” He trailed off, and Roman nodded brokenly. “N…not every time…. there are certain areas…and I avoid them unless I have to follow a creature there…. but he doesn’t always stay in their bounds…”

He trailed off helplessly and the other five absorbed this information. That meant that every time Roman did his job - every time Thomas daydreamed, every time he created something, every time they needed a new script, every time he dreamed, every time he fantasized – Roman had walked into hell, and more often than not he had met the devil wearing his own face.

Patton clamped a hand over his mouth harshly to quiet the sobs tearing out of his throat, Logan, uncharacteristically, tried to reach back to steady and comfort him, but he barely kept his balance as this information set itself in his brain, as every possible meaning, every possible variable, and every possible outcome to the dataset played itself out for him to see. He swayed dangerously, nausea suddenly threatening to knock him over, it would have if it weren’t for the presence of Patton leaned against his back.

Deceit had pressed himself to Virgil’s side by this point, and the two of them were holding onto to each other with an arm around the other, old memories, living nightmares from the past playing through their minds, merging with the knowledge that Roman had faced the same…possibly worse, and for much longer than they had.

Thomas took all of this in without thinking about it, after all, anything and everything his sides knew or realized, he knew too, should he actually think about it. He bit back the wish to scream, or sob, or cry, or tear apart the thing that had hurt his Roman so badly, knowing it would do no good. Instead, he did the only thing he could think of and lifted himself onto the couch to sit by the creative trait, and wrapped his arms around him, drawing Roman to his chest and holding him close as the prince finally broke and began to sob.

His cries were a broken and pathetic thing, the wretchedness sounding from them cutting them all to the bone in a manner none of them- not even Logan with his literal dictionary of a mind – could describe in words. Through his sobs, they heard occasional words and sentences, broken up as they were gasped out roughly.

‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I tried.’ ‘I didn’t mean to.’ ‘my fault.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘shouldn’t have let him.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ ’I’m sorry.’ ‘I’m sorry.’

Virgil and Deceit both jerked forward instinctively, a desperate wish to comfort Roman as they had once comforted each other cutting through them, but they each halted equally as instinctively, for they neither one had any idea what to do. So they held each other, taking what comfort they could from whom they had thought was the only other person in the mindscape who could understand, until now.

Patton tried to move forward as well, a sob finally breaking out of his throat, but the weight of the shock and grief he was under drove him to the ground. Logan’s stunted but still quick reflexes were the only thing that kept the man from falling completely as his friend caught him. All the same, the end result found Patton on his knees, Logan knelt beside him on one knee, arms wrapped around Patton from having caught him. The logical trait was staring, unblinking and wide-eyed at Roman, a sickness choking his throat and cutting off his usually bountiful speech.

Thomas felt all of this, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He felt it hit him like a punch to the chest, and his breath hitched in response, but he ignored it. There would be time for his own sorrow and shock, and theirs, later, for now, he took a deep breath and focused on holding the man in his arms whose whole world, and indeed being, was finally tearing apart for the first time after 29 years of being precariously stitched together.

Roman’s tears, it seemed, had no end to them. Thomas continued to hold him, a silent and steadying presence of strength and comfort. After a time, Roman’s tears did begin to dry up, even if his sorrow and pain did not, but he had exhausted himself too much to move, and so stayed where he was, curled mostly in a ball and burrowed into Thomas’s chest, head resting very nearly over the other’s heart. As the energy to cry faded he allowed the steady thrumming under his ear to lull him into a calmer state. He opened his eyes now, but rather unseeingly as his gaze did not go past Thomas’s chest and upper arm. Thomas, for his part, just kept his arms wrapped securely around the creative trait, one hand lightly running over Roman’s arm and shoulder. As he felt Roman’s breathing even out and his body start to go lax he chanced splitting his attention away from Roman to check on the others.

As he has already been aware, the other four had moved closer but had not interfered. Logan sat on the arm of the couch, his normally smooth expression roughened by furrowed brows and the slightest of frowns fueled by concern as he watched Roman. His posture too was less rigid than normal, as he was hunched forward a bit to reach out one hand to Patton’s shoulder. Patton had also moved close and had taken the open side of the couch. He had curled himself into a ball, pulling his legs up to his chest hugging himself. Though he was pressing back into Logan’s touch, he was leaned forward and edged as close to Roman as he could be without touching him. That being said, it wasn’t lost on Thomas that the fatherly trait’s arms kept twitching as he stopped himself from reaching out and pulling Roman to him. Thomas tried to ignore the twinge of hurt he felt at seeing the sad frown set in Patton’s expression, instead he looked away from them and toward the floor in front of him.

Virgil and Deceit were there. At first, they had stood before the couch awkwardly, not sure where to fit into the picture, wanting to care for Roman, but both still a little afraid and knowing from harsh experience with each other that sometimes you just had to wait for things to pass before you could approach the broken and try to mend them. They had hovered for a moment before understanding that this was not going to be a quick process, and had settled on the floor. Virgil, particularly, had sat on one of his legs, pulling the other up and hugging it to his chest. He wasn’t completely settled though and was pitched forward the same as Patton, a hair-trigger away from propelling himself up and forward to Roman. Deceit kept the same overly attentive and concerned gaze on Roman that Virgil did, and he was only minorly less tense, but he sat completely, legs hugged to his chest, curled into Virgil’s side.

The lot of them sat in silence for a time longer, but once Roman had calmed completely and was resting in a near-sleep state, they could wait no longer. Patton was the one who reached out, a hand pressed gently to Roman’s shoulder, accompanied by a soft call of the other’s name, “Ro?”

The effect was immediate, and unfortunate, as the side in question immediately tensed and his breath hitched. Virgil was up in an instant, kneeling in front of Roman and ducking to get in his field of vision, though the prince didn’t seem to see him at all.

“Princey.” Virgil was conscious not to touch the other and to keep his tone low and even. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” Roman flinched and Virgil frowned, understanding quite immediately. “And so are we, Princey. Just focus on me, ok? On my voice. Ok?” Roman didn’t move, but his breathing was labored once again. “Easy Roman. Focus on your breathing. In 4 seconds, hold 7, out 8. Alright? Again. In 4, hold 7, out 8.” This process repeated for some time, and the others did not protest letting anxiety calm Roman from the beginnings of a panic attack.

When Roman’s breathing was once again steady, though heavy and wet, Virgil risked slowly raising a hand, well within Roman’s vision, and pressing it to his thigh. Roman twitched slightly but did not panic or shy away, but he kept his gaze fixed unseeingly ahead at Thomas’s arm where it curled around him. Deceit, unsure what to do but remembering plenty of times when all he had been able to do was sit close, moved closer and sat down, leaning against the couch. One of his hands instinctively reached out and fisted in Virgil’s jacket, the anxious trait easily reaching out to settle his free hand on Deceit’s knee. Deceit pressed close to Thomas’s legs and laid his head down on the couch, looking up at Roman who met his gaze.

Roman’s face crumpled, and he whimpered tearfully but did not cry as he had no tears left. “I’m sorry.” His voice broke in a dry sob and he closed his eyes, unable to turn his head away. “I’m so fucking sorry…”

Thomas knew this wasn’t the time for all problems to be resolved, indeed it would be sometime before that point came. But he did know that right now they needed to take care of Roman. He tightened his arms around the distraught trait and ran one hand through his hair, an old trick that had calmed him as a child and had the same effect on the creative side now. “Roman.” It was a whisper, soft and strong. “It’s alright.”

Roman shook his head immediately, almost violently, but could do no more as he found himself held closer still. Left with no other choice he stilled and listened to the calm and steady voice above him. “It will be alright Roman.” The hand carded through his hair again. “We will figure this out, and it will be ok.”

He wanted to disagree, he wanted to apologize, but he knew that there was no use arguing. He took a shaky breath and nodded. His eyes though, they left no doubt that he didn’t believe it. Thomas smiled, a sad curl of his lips at the corner into the smallest grin, colored over with grief and love. “It will be aright Roman, and we will fix this, I promise.”

Roman didn’t respond, but he relaxed again. His eyes felt heavy, but he lifted his gaze to find Deceit and Virgil, a desperate need driving the action. When he found no malice or betrayal nor accusation in their eyes, but only concern and care, he finally allowed himself to stop. It wasn’t solved, not by any means, but he was so tired, had been for years, but was beyond exhaustion now. His eyes slipped shut and he allowed the comforting presence of the others around him, the surety of Thomas’s promise, and the steady beating of a heart left unstained beating under his ear lull him into the first restful sleep he’d had since he had become a separate entity. Maybe, maybe he was wrong.

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Biting Off More Than You Can Chew; part 13

Summary: Truth or consequence time. Rus promised Blue a story and that's exactly what he gets.

Tags: heatfic, dubious consent, NSFW, frenemies to lovers, mates, first time, more if I think of them

PLEASE READ THE TAGS: This is a Heat story, so there are going to be issues of consent. I don’t do partner rape, nope, but hey, I want to be straight with y’all. I like heatfics personally, but I understand how they can be troubling for some people. So there it is.

~~*~~

Read Chapter 13 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Blue sat in silence while Rus told him everything. He started from the top with the first text from Red asking him to check on his sick brother. About how that little recon mission ended up with him pinned to a wall with a fresh bitemark on his collarbone and how that took him down the candyland path to visit with Undyne for a little research and a fresh batch of bad news. From there it was pretty much a direct route to a bunch of choices that were each worse than the last.

Rus didn't hold anything back. The only details he skimmed over was the actual heat, he figured his little brother could do without the HD recreation of him getting railed by a heat-crazed Edge and then turning around to do a little railing of his own.

Strange how this was probably the most honest he’d ever been with his brother. Not that he spent a lot of time communing with his inner Pinocchio, but Rus could reluctantly admit a tendency of glossing over the specifics of some situations. This time, Rus gave Blue the full, uncut dose and it felt kinda good to get it all out there.

He talked until he was hoarse and talked a little more; about the heats and the aftermath, and how it felt to get someone else’s undiluted emotions shoved right into your soul, specifically when they accidentally let you know about…about the way they thought they felt. Yeah.

Blue didn't say a word. He sat with Rus’s head settled into his lap, absently stroking his skull and listening silently as Rus rambled on as the stars of his eye lights fading to circles, then pinpricks. He only moved once, reaching with two cautious fingers to push down the neckline of Rus’s sweatshirt to peer at the healing scar on his collarbone.

He stayed mute until Rus was finished.

“so yeah,” Rus sighed. “that’s about it.” The whole fucked-up series of events laid out there for Blue to absorb in one long-winded rush.

Blue turned away and Rus’s soul lurched painfully. Was he…was he disgusted? It wasn’t a great situation all the way around, but he thought he’d at least made the right choice in not letting Edge possibly, you know, die. “bro?”

Blue gave him a gentle push out of his lap and Rus eased upward, shifting to sit cross-legged on the sofa. An ache settling in his chest as Blue stood and walked a few steps, only to hesitate in the middle of their living room, theirs, where they’d lived together ever since they came to Snowdin, him fresh from quitting the lab and worried about how he would take care of his little brother. The same brother who stood there now, surrounded by their familiar furniture and décor, the walls painted a soft blue and the striped rug under his feet. Blue’s head dropped as he hunched into himself, his shoulders rounding as a quiver ran through him.

Fuck.

Rus swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in his mouth, whispering out, “sans?”

“I’ll kill him!” That snarl caught Rus off-guard and he stared in disbelief as his sweet, gentle brother whirled around, his gloved hands clenched into fists. No happy, starry eye lights now, his brother’s gaze was a strobing flare of blue and yellow, radiating fury.

“blue!” Okay then, looked like even if Rus was unwilling to hurt someone who wore his brother’s face, Blue didn’t have the same compunction. “come on, bro, that’s not gonna help! it’ll make it worse, even. red and i had a chat, we’re…well, we’re not good, but we’re okay, i think.” And when Blue only stood there, radiating hot anger, Rus tried, “think of edge! he’d probably be a little grumpy at any family reunions if you dusted his bro!”

Nothing like a little good bad humor to cut the tension. Blue grimaced and when he opened his sockets again, his eye lights were a little more normal. Mostly. “That is true. But a stern talking to hardly seems sufficient for this, brother! He changed the course of your entire life! Both your lives!”

“don’t i know it. look, if i come up with something better, i’ll let you know, ok?”

Blue nodded reluctantly, then with halting gentleness, he asked, “Are you all right?”

Rus could only offer an awkward shrug. “kinda think the point of this whole talk is that i’m not all right.”

“No, I mean, did…did Edge…” Blue hesitated, then stood up straighter and blurted out. “Did he hurt you? When you were--” he faltered and the hand gesture he made was one Rus could have happily lived his entire life without seeing from his little brother.

“no!” Rus strangled out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “no, he didn’t hurt me.” That first morning after wasn’t his fondest memory, but his recollection was pretty clear. After a brief stint of assholery, Edge went the opposite route. Lingering heat, maybe, or that damned bond settling in, but what he’d mostly been was kind…and horny. Rus let out a short laugh, “would you believe he asked me the same thing?”

“Yes,” Blue said instantly. No surprise there, Blue always did try to see the best in everyone and as frustrating as that could be sometimes, it was also one of the things Rus loved the most about him.

“of course you would,” Rus chuckled reluctantly. He sighed and slumped on the sofa, letting his head fall back on the cushions. “no, it was fine, he didn’t hurt me. it was good. i guess evolutionary bullshit doesn’t mess around, likes to keep things running smoothly. then again it was still pretty good the next morning after the heat part was over and—" He realized Blue was looking at him with both browbones climbing up his forehead and uh, yeah, probably didn’t want the details. Rus scrubbed a hand over his face and coughed out, “anyway. yeah, it was fine.”

“Mmhmm,” Blue said, and what the hell did that tone mean? Briskly, Blue went on. “Well, what’s done is done, if not forgotten, so what you need is to look forward.”

“not exactly my forte.”

“No, you’ve always been more of a here and now sort of person, haven’t you,” Blue agreed and now there was nothing in his voice but fondness tinged with exasperation. “But that’s all right because I am an excellent future strategist and I will help you!” Blue walked back to the sofa and sat down, taking one of Rus’s hands in both of his as he leaned in. “Now, brother, have you actually read this heat manual you mentioned?”

“uh…” Rus hedged, “edge said he'd get me a copy.”

“Papy!” That exasperation took over. “This is like the time you tried to put together that bookcase and said you didn't need the directions!"

“think there may be a couple of differences, bro. for one, my life didn’t hinge on making sure those shelves were level.”

It was with indescribable horror that Rus listened as his brother scoffed, “Nonsense, it’s all about inserting tab a into slot b! Honestly, how do you think can you manage without instructions?”

“bro, please,” Rus pleaded, “are you trying to get me to scrub my skull out with bleach?”

Blue ignored that, his rounded face screwed up in thought. “All right, if we don’t have the manual, we’ll need to think about this practically and set emotions aside. You two have a soul bond together, correct?”

“yeah.”

“And neither of you have a choice in this, right?”

“no.” Rus’d been made abundantly clear on that, front and center over at Muffet’s.

“And you will both have to keep doing this heat cycle every couple of months, correct?"

“based on my own observations? yeah.” Rus only realized how tightly he was gripping his brother’s hands when Blue winced a little, gently loosening his hold and patting his fingers soothingly.

“And because of all this, you aren't able to…enjoy…being with anyone else." Faint blue rose in his cheek bones, but Blue didn't hesitate. “Of course, you haven’t really done that in some time, anyway.”

“yeah, i guess not.” That…was true. He’d dropped off with the bedshares a while ago and probably the only reason he’d wanted to at Muffet’s was the heat starting to burn through him and damn, that was gonna make getting a drink awkward for a little while, wasn’t it.

Blue nodded thoughtfully, “So if all that is true, then why not make the most of it?”

“what?” Rus blinked at his brother, “what do you mean?”

“You said it was good with Edge, didn’t you?” The shining enthusiasm in Blue’s eye lights was a stark contrast to sheer horror of what he was saying, “Make the most of it, who says you have to wait to go into heat again? If you can’t be with anyone else, be with him. It’ll be like training! You can work on your soul bond and your sex at the same time! You’re supposed to be mates, surely that means something, and maybe you’ll have a little fun as well!”

“blue!” Rus almost squeaked with indignation.

“I’m not blind, you know. He doesn’t really look much like you,” Blue mused. “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating triscuits.”

“oh, thanks for that. i can’t…why would i even want to…” Blue raised a brow bone at him and Rus felt a blush flame over his face. Okay, time to change tactics. “sex isn’t the problem, bro.”

“No, it’s really not, is it,” Blue said softly. His gloved thumb moved gently over the back of Rus’s hand and the soft sympathy in his eye lights was close to unbearable. “Do you really think he loves you?”

“i…” Rus trailed off, looked down at the floor. At their carpet, the deeper blue stripes running alongside the black ones and he could trace every one to the wall and back, he could count them, number them or name them, but he couldn’t get away from that question. Couldn’t forget the way that brief tenderness felt nestled against his own soul, emotions that weren’t his but still so painfully real. “i think…i think he thinks he does. and so what if he does? you think sleeping with him even more is the answer? seriously, bro, what kind of asshole do you think i am that i could just fuck around with him, having a good time while he…feels like that and i don’t?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Blue said with some asperity, “but can it be worse than him sitting at home alone thinking his bondmate hates him? You don’t, do you?”

That made Rus wince. Yeah, he hadn’t exactly left Edge in the kindest way, had he. In fact, he’d been pretty shitty, ditching him right on the heels of his post-heat breakfast, right when he’d been about to give Edge a little dessert of his own. That, at least, Rus was good at. Shove aside all the heat bullshit and soulbonds and…and the rest, sex was something Rus could handle, literally. Still, could he really— “no, i don’t hate him.”

Blue gave Rus a scrutinizing look. “Do you think he'd turn you away?"

And that was the thing, wasn't it? Because he didn't. Edge seemed to have accepted all this with remarkable aplomb while Rus was the one clutching at his pearls. Then again, Edge got to deal with how he felt all the damn time, wasn’t Rus’s fault if he overreacted just a tad the first time he got an inkling.

"no," Rus said slowly. "i don't think he would." Edge had been pretty into it this morning before he slipped up with his shielding.

"So why not look at the silver lining?" Blue said cheerfully. “He loves you, you love sex, you’re both stuck in this together. You’ll never learn to properly control all of this if you don’t work on it together, so what do you have to lose by giving it a try? Perhaps you can come to some sort of understanding.”

“an understanding! fuck, i don’t understand any of this, bro!” Rus groaned. He flopped back on the sofa, flinging an arm over his eye sockets. “you really think it’s fair for me to get off while rubbing edge’s face into his feels?”

“What I think is that none of this is fair. You can only do your best.” Rus lifted his arm enough to peer out under and found Blue studying him, his expression unreadable, “Are you afraid, brother?”

“afraid?” That got him to sit up right quick, and maybe Rus didn’t live in murder world, but he knew how to do some damage if needs be, he wasn’t afraid of shit. “afraid of what?”

“You tell me,” Blue countered, “You said you felt Edge’s emotions, but Edge hasn't really tried to influence you at all, has he? From what you told me, he hasn’t forced the issue in any of this, not about the bond or the heat.”

“no,” Rus admitted, warily, “all he said was that this isn't what he wanted.”

“Of course he doesn’t, I certainly wouldn't want to force the person I care for into any sort of relationship with me. So what you need to do is choose a relationship and decide what you both can accept from it.” Blue held up a silencing hand when Rus tried to protest, “At some point, you can only make the most of the cards you’ve been dealt. If all you have is a pair of deuces, well—" Blue shrugged.

“i knew letting alphys teach you poker was a bad idea.”

“Brother,” Blue sighed out, “Truthfully, I can give you a bucket of advice to carry around, but I’m afraid the only real solution to this problem is one that you’ll like least,” Blue shook a finger at him. “You’re going to have to talk to Edge. Ask him what he wants.”

Yeah, sure. Ask his unwanted bondmate if he wanted to, what? Practice for their heats, train for them, work out the kinks in their soul bond, and oh, yeah, by the way, what did he want to do with all those pesky emotions of his, yeah, that’d be swell.

But it wasn’t like he had a better idea, now was it.

“okay,” Rus sighed. “guess it’s a plan.”

“That’s the spirit!” Blue said cheerily. “I’m sure all of this will work out, brother, you’ll see!”

More like it was going to end like Napstaton last cooking special, in a fiery blaze.

But first—

“think i’ll take a nap before i go over,” Rus yawned exaggeratedly, “get my strength up.”

It was an old joke, hell, once Blue scolded him that with all his naps, he should rival Superman for strength by now.

But this time, for the first time ever, Blue nodded. “I think a nap would do you some good.” His bro stood and pulled the worn blanket off the back of the sofa to drape over him, and when he leaned in to press a light kiss to Rus’s brow bone, murmuring, “Sleep well, brother,” unwelcome tears stung Rus’s sockets.

Rus buried them stubbornly into the blanket, snuggling into the folds. A nap, yeah, something to help deal with the ache that still lingered deep in his bones from a long night of heat fucking. He could deal with the aches that might be anywhere else later.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underswap sans #heatfic #biting off more than you can chew

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darlinvandijk · 5 years ago

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Thrift Shop

Concept: request where “Ruel cleaning out his closet and accidentally giving his favorite hoodie (some limited edition shit) to a local thrift shop. Then one day he sees you in *that* hoodie and politely asks you if he could have it back. you have no idea who he is, but after some time, you get to know him better, and catch some feelings.” Dm me and whatnot for requests and I’ll be happy to comply! (This is really fucking long lol) I hope you enjoy :)

I slowly walk through the rows of clothing in my absolute favorite thrift shop, letting my fingers graze against the clothes, feeling all of the different textures and fabrics. I came here to buy a suede skirt for my mother’s annual Holiday party, but so far I have about 5 pieces of clothing and a hat, a hat that I’ll probably never wear. I’m strolling through the men’s section, trying to make my way across the store to dresses, when my eyes catch a muted reddish brown crewneck. I pull out the sweater, eyeing the “Holy Spirit” black writing across the front of it, before ultimately deciding its going to be added to my ever growing pile of clothes. I finally get everything I need, go up to the register, and pull out my card to pay for everything I impulsively bought. The cashier, who’s gotten to know me and become one of my best friends over the last few months of me always being here, looks at my stuff and sends me a small smile, before looking at the sweater and grinning.

“We actually just got this one in today, you should have seen the guy that donated it” he muses, folding everything up and placing it into a bag for me. I raise an eyebrow at him, intrigued by what he found so interesting about the mystery donor. He watches my expression and lets out a chuckle.

“Jake you have to tell me now, what was so great about him?” I question curiously, wanting to know why my friend had such a mischievous smile on his face. He passes me the bag and receipt before dramatically leaning on the counter and letting out a sigh, throwing his head back for effect.

“Sweets he was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, like he could take me anywhere and anytime, and honestly definitely your type” Jake draws out, causing me to choke on air before laughing. I let him fan himself dramatically for a couple more seconds before rolling my eyes and laughing at my dramatic but great friend.

“Okay jake if you’re done losing your shit, I shall be on my way. Don’t forget this weekend though, you and Ali are supposed to bring the snacks since I’m hosting movie night” I remind him, about the deal our friend group made for our weekly movie night, completely ignoring his fascination over the unknown guy. He nods his head and waves bye as I make my way out of the store and back to my apartment, thinking about how I can put all my new clothes to use. ———

It’s been a few days since I went thrifting and today I decided to finally head out to the shops, wearing my new favorite sweater. I paired the Holy Spirit sweater with a pair of shorts and some black vans, before deciding the outfit was decent enough to be out in public in.

I make it to the shops and stroll around, looking at the setups in the windows, the different cafes and pastry shops, and all the various stores just begging me to spend my money there. I decide to make a quick stop at a cute little pastry place, sitting outside with my drink and chocolate croissant. As I sit outside at one of the tables enjoying the nice weather and hearing the chatter of the families strolling around, I feel someone tap my shoulder. I turn around in my seat, coming face to face with someone’s stomach, before having to completely tilt my head back in order to make eye contact with the random but extremely tall stranger. I freeze a little upon making eye contact with the gorgeous green eyed male, before throwing him a confused look since he obviously had something to say.

“Hey I hope I’m not bothering you, but uh this might be weird, like really weird actually, but uhm can I ask you a question? Did you thrift that sweater?” He asks with a crooked nervous smile, looking me over, spending a little bit longer on my sweater before looking back into my eyes. I slightly blush at his unwavering gaze at me, from not only being put on the spot, but from being flustered by the attention of such an attractive guy. I then take in the question he asked, becoming perpelxed that he came all the way up to me to ask about the very worn out sweater.

“Yeah? Why?” I question, throwing him a small smile, not wanting to come off too awkward or blunt to him. He gives me a boyish one back before taking another long look at my sweater, nervously wringing his hands in front of him, and slightly shifiting from foot to foot. I catch on to his anxious behavior and motion to the seat in front of me, blushing at the smile he throws me before taking the seat. He takes a deep breath before looking me in the eyes with an apprehensive expression.

“Can I have that sweater?” He blurts out completely catching me off guard, while also catching himself off guard by the apparent blush that rises to his cheeks. I stare at him with my mouth partially opened, unsure on what to say to his abrupt question. Like I barely know the guy, he might be attractive but I’m not going to strip right here for him to have this sweater. I slightly tilt my head to the side as I watch him let out a groan and cover his face with his hands.

“So I don’t know you and honestly have no clue what to say. Like well no, because I don’t have another shirt to wear, and also no because I bought it and don’t usually give my clothes to random people? Like I’m not about to strip here for a random guy?” I slowly speak, trying to figure out how to reply to him, still confused by this whole situation. He takes a deep breath at my answer before running a hand through his hair, causing my breathing to stutter for a second. He looks up at me and throws me a smirk, catching on to my reaction, making my face instantly heat up.

“That wasn’t the way I was going to ask, it just came out, but like please I’ll do anything to get that sweater back, I’ll even go buy you a new shirt right now ” the boy pleads, with big round eyes and a slightly pouted bottom lip. He pulls out a wallet and sets it on the table, giving me a look of pure desperation. I honestly have no clue what this guys deal is with this sweater, like did he say he wanted it back when I never took it from him in the first place?

“You want it back? But like I don’t know you so there’s no way I took it from you” I explain watching him bounce his leg anxiously, biting at his bottom lip. He starts to turn pink, seeming almost embarrassed to explain his situation with my sweater.

“Here’s the thing, I donated a lot to the thrift store, but I had no clue that my favorite sweater got put into the pile. Like that sweater is really valuable and also has a lot of sentimental value to me. I’ll pay you for it if that’s what it takes” he rushes out, eyes locked on the sweater, before looking at me with a nervous look. I look at the sweater, then to his wallet, then back to him, before deciding what my final decision is.

“I don’t know you at all, like I don’t even know your name, so I feel weird on giving you something I just bought, but I also don’t want to take your money. Why don’t we get to like know each other and then I can decide on if i believe the story and if I’ll give you the sweater” I reason, watching a grin blossom across his face at my words, before nodding his head vigorously, making me throw my head back and laugh at his excitement.

“Deal, how about we start with something simple. My names Ruel, what’s yours?” He asks, with a sincere look of genuine interest as he waits for my reply, I smile before holding my hand out, ready to finally introduce myself to the beautiful guy in front of me. ———

“You’re kidding me? There’s no way that’s true” I snort out, watching Ruel give me an incredulous look from his spot on my couch. He scoffs as he looks at me, throwing me a betrayed glare, trying his hardest to not smile. It’s been two months since I met him on that fateful sunny day, two months of inside jokes and shared stories, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have him in my life.

“For you information it IS true, I met Tyler and literally ran away from him after introducing myself, I was too nervous” he explains, laughing at the look I give him, before seating myself next to him, handing him his takeout container, both of us getting ready to binge on some Netflix movies, like we usually do on each other’s free days. He sends me a small smile and grabs a blanket, pulling it over the both of us, saying it’s protection from the cold and possible falling noodles if we drop any. We enjoy each other’s company in silence, with comments every now and then, our food finished with only the empty cartons on the coffee table, when he makes a move leaving me completely flustered.

He shifts a little, his left side completely pressed against my right side now, before setting an arm on the back of the couch, slowly moving it down until it rests upon my shoulders. I look up at him to see him already watching me, his green doe eyes and rosy cheeks waiting for my reaction, before I softly smile and turn to rest my back against his chest. He lets out a quiet chuckle, moving his arm down to wrap around my waist, holding me as we watch the rest of Spider-Man. This is the first time he’s made a move on me like this, like yeah we’ve had our moments of flirting and being a little touchy, but he’s never genuinely made a move. I smile as I think about how he might like me, the way I’ve grown to like him, shocked that he wasn’t just being friendly during all those fleeting touches we’ve shared. Shocked that maybe the feelings were mutual.

As the movie comes to an end, I notice the way our position has changed throughout it, at some point we must’ve shifted because I’m currently resting on his chest as he lays down across the couch. His hands rest on my back, one resting on my bare skin underneath my sweater, the sweater that actually made this whole friendship possible. He shifts once the final credits start to roll, sitting up and pulling me with him. I make a move to get off his lap, but he places his hands on my hips and holds me in place. He gives me a nervous grin, much like the one he gave when we first met, and reaches up to move some of my hair behind my ear. He lets his hand linger against my cheek for a second, before putting it back onto my hip.

“So I don’t know how to say this.. because I truly value our friendship and would hate to fuck it up.” He spits out, breaking the silence with his anxious statement. I give him a small smile, lifting a hand timidly to smooth out the wrinkles forming between his eyebrows. He stops furrowing them and just watches as I lay my hand against his cheek, feeling it heat up instantly.

“I don’t think anything you say can ruin our friendship, just go ahead and say it” I softly tell him, hoping to ease up any of the nervousness he feels, starting to get anxious myself on what has him so shy all of a sudden. He nods his head and take a deep breath, before looking up into my eyes and giving me the cute boyish grin I’ve come to love. I start to blush under his gaze, not being able to read the emotion that’s filling his eyes.

“I really like you, like I mean really fucking like you. I get it if it’s not reciprocated, we can just pretend this never happened, but I just needed to tell you. I’m really falling for you” Ruel whispers out, looking away from my eyes, too scared to see the look on my face. I can feel his hands shaking as they hold my hips, filled with fear of rejection. I stop breathing for a second, not being able to comprehend that he actually likes me in a way as more than friends. I let out a quiet laugh watching his eyes snap to mine in confusion, before I throw my arms around his neck, and hold him as tight as I can.

“I’m falling for you too” I softly whisper out, my face still pressed into the crook of his neck. I feel his body shake as he lets out a laugh of pure happiness, completely elated that he not only didn’t ruin a friendship, but that his feelings were wholeheartedly shared. We sit in silence for a little bit, just enjoying the peace and happiness filling the air around us. He pulls back so he can see my face, glancing down at my lips and the back to my eyes, slowly leaning in before connecting our lips in a soft yet sweet kiss. He pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, leaning in to place a few chaste kisses, causing me to let out a laugh. I watch his eyes light up in awe upon hearing the gleeful laugh leave my mouth, happy that he’s the one making me so happy.

“Sooo does this make you my girlfriend?” He asks slowly, not too sure where to go next after making the main move. I give him a smirk, laughing at the way he instantly becomes weary at my expression.

“Hmmm no” I sarcastically reply, watching his eyes widen before they form into a glare, catching on to my underlying sarcasm. He scoffs and instantly tackles me into the couch, landing on top of me and pressing kisses all over my face, making me shriek out at the sudden attack. He pulls away a little so that his face hovers above mine, giving me the softest smile before leaning down and pressing his lips to the tip of my nose. We smile at each other, both of us mentally agreeing that this is the start of our relationship. ———

“Hey baby, can I ask you something?” Ruel asks anxiously from my kitchen, where he’s currently on the search for the Cheetos he left here. I glance up from my place on the couch, waiting for him to go on with whatever his question is, before finally coming to the conclusion that I’ll need to verbally reply before he can finally spit out his question.

“Yeah?” I question, throwing him a small smile, not wanting to make my poor boyfriend even more nervous than he already was. He gives me a boyish one back before taking another long look at my sweater, nervously wringing his hands in front of him, and slightly shifiting from foot to foot. I catch on to his anxious behavior and motion to the seat next to me, blushing at the beautiful smile he throws me before taking the seat. He takes a deep breath before looking me in the eyes with an apprehensive expression. As I look at him I feel a strange sense of deja vu, almost like this had happened before.

“Can I have that sweater?” He blurts out completely catching me off guard, while also catching himself of guard by the apparent blush that rises to his cheeks. I stare at him with my mouth partially opened, unsure on what to say to my idiot of a boyfriend. Like he might be attractive but I’m not going to strip right now just for him to have this sweater back. I slightly tilt my head to the side as I watch him let out a groan and cover his face with his hands.

“Sorry I don’t give clothes to random people” I jokingly reply, watching the look of realization cross his face. He walks over to the couch and lifts me up, placing me on top of his lap with a sly grin. I wearily watch him, completely unsure on what his next move will be, he’s literally so unpredictable. He leans forward and gives me a kiss, sliding his hands under my sweater, and letting them roam across my skin. As the kiss becomes heated, I notice the way his hands seem to be less touchy and more focused on the sweater. I instantly pull away from Ruel and send him a glare, catching on to his sneaky little plan.

“Ruel you asshole, did you only kiss me right now to try and get the sweater off me?” I snap out, watching the guilty grin that spreads across his face. He laughs as I continue to glare at him, placing his hands on my waist and rubbing soft circles into my skin, enveloping me in warmth with his touch. I continue to glare at him, not wanting to let him off the hook so fast, even though I can already feel my stubbornness melting away.

“You had told me that you wouldn’t strip for a random guy, but I’m not random anymore baby. You’re looking at your boyfriend who is kindly pleading with you to give it back, I’ll even give you a different sweater of mine or even take you to buy a new sweater” He pleads, watching the look of mischief cross over my face at his words. He lets out a groan, realizing he just practically made a deal with the devil himself. I excitedly flash him a grin, feeling my cheeks heat up in pure excitement for what’s to come.

“Time to go to the Thrift Shop” I screech out in glee, causing Ruel to instantly press his face against my chest in defeat. I mean it’s his fault really, maybe he should double check piles before donating.

#ruelvincentvandijk #ruel van dijk #one ruel #ruel #ruel one shot #ruel imagines #ruel imagine #imagine #imagines #one shot #x reader #free time ep #ruel fanfic

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hornsandthings · 5 years ago

Text

vices i admire;

pairing: barry berkman x reader

summary: reader accidentally finds barry’s stash of weapons, and barry is forced to come clean.

tags: fluff, angst // word count: 2.3k

a soft muttering woke you, the low grumbles and frustrated huffs stirring your hair.

“he don’t bolt—put a bolt into—to a nut; he don’t bolt a nut—fuck—”

lazy and lethargic, you nuzzled closer to barry’s neck as your hand came to rest on his chest. he was much warmer than the light comforter, and holding him close at night was the only way to keep the chill at bay. he responded just as languidly, arm curling around your waist tighter. you knew, however, that this was due to distraction, not fatigue.

“runnin’ lines?” you mumbled into his skin, voice thick and heavy with sleep. it was nice to wake up with barry, to have him close like this. he had always been a very nice and generous man, but often you thought he was somewhat unknowable, too. at times when he thought you were asleep, you saw how hard his mind worked, those thick brows betraying a deep frown. barry was approachable, but seldom open.

“—then you get yourself a couple of shots—spots, goddamn it; spots on your hat—”

a smile pulled at your mouth, a giggle trapped in your throat. you could only imagine barry’s expression – flat on his back, glaring at the ceiling, looking harsh while he accommodated your nuzzling with soft touches.

“barry,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his clavicle. you had to blink the sleep away, but there he was, looking down at you.

“—a salesman is got to dream?” he finished, eyes saying how did you sleep? while his words ended that speech. you laughed, cupping his jaw as you pulled him in for a kiss. it was easy and gentle, but you could still feel the soft intensity he managed to place behind it. again and again did he mould his lips to yours, carefully nudging you so that he was hovering above now, cradling your cheek in a way that always hinted at caution.

shuffling steps in the next room, a heavy sigh that dragged in a way only a performer could manage. “barry!” someone called, “you forgot the milk! goddammit, man, you know it’s just an aisle away from the gatorade—”

barry deflated, mouth already working up an annoyed mumble but you kissed the tip of his nose, warding away the whispered “fuck!” that was on the tip of his tongue. you jumped as the roommate pounded on the door, offering up another weary sigh.

“please, man. breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“your cereal is eighty percent sugar. you know that, right?” he retorted back while still looking at you, eyes flickering to your grin. you bit your lip during the pause, trying to smother your laugh. barry only looked put out.

the doorknob turned, letting out a tell-tell squeak and now barry jolted. “fine, fine!” he quickly shouted, hurriedly pulling the covers up to his shoulders as you gripped him closer like a shield. your briefly eyed the nearest article of clothing – in the corner, a few feet away – and burst into a big belly laugh at barry’s alarmed face, quite comical with those expressive brows as he swallowed thickly.

he grumbled a little, disentangling himself from you between quick, chaste kisses. “i’m sorry,” he sighed, shaking his head as he shrugged on a hoodie, fumbled with a pair of pants. “i’ll be back soon, alright? thirty minutes.”

“no worries, baby,” you mused, wrapping the comforter all around you as he left. daylight crept in beneath the blinds, and you allowed yourself to just sit a while, taking in barry’s room. there was little to indicate he’d been a marine, most of it packed away into a box stored in the closet. instead, things that told of his aspirations to acting dotted the room: gene’s book on the bedside table, a pile of old scripts in the corner, spare props peeking out from beneath the bed. you’d only seen him perform onstage twice so far; while his delivery couldn’t quite communicate the amount of effort he always put into it, you supported his desires wholeheartedly.

this thing with barry – it was only a few months old, but the dedication throughout had felt pure and strong. the care between you two was genuine, and there was more than just simple attraction; the way he touched you, held you – it was laced with adoration. huffing a chuckle, you stepped out of the bed and wriggled into your underthings. muffled sounds from the television filtered through the door as you searched for your socks, tuned to some morning soap.

this – you wouldn’t mind a life like this. to spend the nights with barry, wake up in his arms, coming to also know his lines from the sheer amount of times he went over them; to become part of his life in a way that meant more mornings like this. perhaps you two weren’t quite there yet, but sometimes – just from the way this particular happiness felt – you could tell that you, at least, were close.

resolving to tidy up, you reached for the comforter to disentangle the knot you’d made of it. the material snagged, and with a frown you tried pulling to no avail. kneeling at the foot of the bed, you realised it had caught in the mattress’ zipper. jerking the quilt hard, it finally ripped free, tugging the zip right open with it.

your heart stopped, skin crawling as goosebumps developed. with a trembling hand, you uncovered the array of firearms so expertly displayed within the mattress fibre. there were pistols, barrels, bullets and silencers; black, menacing things with an express purpose. to hurt. to kill.

the door swung open and barry jerked to a halt, mimicking you as he went very still. those wide eyes and thick brows were no longer comical or endearing; no, they were alarming, frightening, intimidating. right now, he was a stranger.

“i—i didn’t mean to—,” you stuttered, throat closing and jaw hurting as fear began its slow asphyxiation. barry was breathing just as hard as you, horroron his face as that stash of guns glinted dully in the space between.

“listen, i—”

a shout of laughter rang from the kitchen, and barry’s jaw clenched as your gaze flickered to the door behind him. both reminded of the presence of other people – help for you, trouble for him – barry moved slow, nudging the door closed.

“listen,” he said again, low and deliberate, “i can explain.”

you scrambled back as he stepped forward, sliding until your back hit the wall. a soft whimper fell from your mouth as he continued to near, but as soon as the sound hit him, he lowered to his knee a few feet away.

“after afghanistan—i didn’t have anything else to be good at,” he started, desperation replacing the alarm on his face. “someone took advantage of that. i—i had to do things…”

barry’s breath hitched in a way that forewarned tears, and your own eyes stung.

“i tried—i’m trying—to get out of it, but i’m in so deep, sweetheart, it just won’t—fuck!”

he gasped for breath, shaking his head as if trying to straighten his thoughts. you were shivering, reading the subtext that was simply terrifying. incomprehensible. those odd hours when he’d show up at your door, distraught and in need of comfort; he’d always blamed it on his acting process, the result of getting into character, but now – now you knew better. you couldn’t even look at him anymore, those red and tearful eyes just too much.

“i know it’s wrong. i know. it’s not who i am—not anymore. i realised it when i came to LA, but i knew it before. deep down. but—but i’m good at it, and they won’t just let me be—”

“barry,” you pleaded, “barry—”

“please, please believe me,” he begged, even clasping his hands together. nausea roiled in your gut, mind sticky as reality slurred. barry – this… this man – was frantic; instability and guns didn’t make for a good combination. “i can’t let it happen again—i need you to just figure this out with me, alright? please.”

“i w-won’t tell a-anyone,” you rushed, thoughts racing. you wanted to believe him – god, you’d wanted to love him – but this… this was horrifying. “i promise, just—please don’t h-hurt me.” you were curled into yourself, knees and hands drawn up to your chest.

barry flinched in disbelief. “i won’t ever hurt you,” he promised, no fumbling to be heard; it was clear despite the dishevelment that threatened to undo him. barry’s distress tugged at your heart, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to that line yet. your eyes drifted to those weapons again, torn between sympathy and repulsion. barry winced, covering up the flap as he risked moving closer.

“the war is over, barry,” you whispered. a sad, simple truth laid bare, barely making its way to him. you should’ve known that such integration after serving was too good and too soon; a life without violence may not ever be enough for him.

barry’s voice failed, giving a mournful nod instead. “i’m sorry,” he said, voice filled with unadulterated sorrow for himself, for you, for what had happened, for everything. “i’m so sorry.”

it was quiet for a time. he was crying softly in front of you while you just stared at the door beyond him, shutting down breath by breath. eventually barry realised, moving away.

“i’m not holding you hostage,” he murmured, a hollowness to his voice that sent a dull spike of fear within you. “you can… you can go,” he said, jaw feathering as he probably weighed the consequences.

nodding mutely, you grabbed your jeans and the first shirt you found, not even noticing that it was actually barry’s. breathing deep, you eyed him as prey would eye a predator; wary, distrustful, afraid. he slouched, seeming to fold into himself as he allowed you a wide berth.

and so you left, putting one step in front of the other and keeping your head down, pulse still thundering in your ears. his roommates greeted you but all you heard was a series of discordant sounds, including your own vague reply before the apartment door shut behind you.

+++

two weeks. it had been two weeks of no contact, and barry had barrelled through the days thinking his world was imploding again. he tried to keep up a sense of normalcy by going to work, to acting class, to the grocery store, to the bar with his friends. routine. routine was all that could save him now.

he’d wanted to be selfish, to keep you there until he was sure you wouldn’t eventually resort to the police, but unfriendly memories had come unbidden – of chris, of janice. he couldn’t fuck up this one – it was you, goddammit, he couldn’t even think of laying a hand on you. so he had let you go with the shred of hope that you’d see the truth of barry berkman. there were times he’d wanted to come and visit you, but he couldn’t risk scaring you even further. god, just the look on your face, the tremble to your lip – it sickened him to know that he was the cause of it. you’d been cowering from him, so vulnerable and exposed; caught in a twisted caricature of more intimate scenes you two would share. he hated himself for it. every time he loaded another shot, he could taste the spilled blood in his mouth, see the betrayal in your eyes. even now, as he watched some movie trying to be mindless for just one hour, the guilt nagged at the back of his mind.

a knock on the door. looking around, he met the raised brows of his roommates and acquiesced. with a sigh, he trudged over, expecting another lost missionary—

but it was you.

it was you, eyes bruised and face gaunt with the knowledge that had troubled you for days. his fingers twitched with the urge to reach out, but he stepped into the corridor instead, shutting the door behind him.

“what—,” he croaked, voice breaking. “you—”

you let out a shuddering breath, and barry shifted on his feet as he saw tears glistening in your eyes. “i believe you, barry.” it was a low, breathy sentence, drenched in dread and regret. it seemed like you were going to say something more, but you just shook your head.

despite this, barry’s heart lifted in a desperate sense of relief. a hitched, breathy laugh fell from his mouth. it was instinct to reach for you, and although you tensed, you fell into his embrace with a muffled sob, hands fisted in his shirt. barry swallowed his own tears, holding you close, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“you’re important to me,” he confessed. “you’re part of this good life – the one that i want, the one with happiness and love – and i don’t wanna give it up. i promise i’m not a monster… i, uh, don’t think i am? i—i don’t wanna be.”

with a sharp inhale, you looked up at him as you cupped his jaw. your brows were furrowed, corners of your mouth turned down, but you were holding him. you were here.

“i don’t know where we go from here,” you admitted, “but i care for you, barry. i want you to be okay.”

he nodded, face crumpling as he did so. hands cradling your neck, barry kissed you with all the longing he had in him, all the yearning and pining for things that were always so close to slipping from his hold.

starting now, he told himself. the mantra that always failed him, but the one that he tried – always tried – to live by. perhaps this time.

starting… now.

#barry berkman x reader #barry berkman imagine #barry berkman fanfiction #i love bill hader :(#his lines are from a. miller's death of a salesman

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jackdaniel69nice · 4 years ago

Text

Ninjago OC’s

I don’t really make ocs unless it’s plot specific but here are a few I have because it’s oc day I guess (this got so long I’m sorry)

Side Characters

Brody Grey and the Oppenheimer gang

Description: mid 20s, tip-dyed black hair (color is subject to change but he likes red), likes to wear tie-dye and anything from the 80s, average adult male height, Gay

Personality: overdramatic but with a rational head, energetic and likes to tease, gives good advice and father figure I guess?, love of reading and writing, can be flirty and cocky at times

Backstory: Was disowned by his parents when he came out and has had to make it on his own, Theater major at the Oppenheimer and successful too, was Cole’s roomate (they didn’t get along at first)

Plot Purpose: Cole-centric backstory exploration, Brody and co. reveal a lot about Cole’s past to the other ninja (more about the emo depressed grieving version in the pilots) and helps him come to terms with it, Also tell them you’re gay Cole, yeesh. The other friends are important to expanding the other ninja like Alex (non-binary, quiet, goth, Violinist) helps Jay deal with that he’s trans and coming out of the closet, Persila (bi, short blond, actor, excitable conspericy theorist and fandom queen) Probably figures out Jay is Cliff Gordon’s son, Melissa (lesbian, singer, Mom, sweet thing but easy to anger and holds a grudge) Was the first one Cole latched onto in the group because she reminded him so much of his mom [there are other things too with Nya and Kai and Zane but I don’t feel like elaborating more now], ANYWAY Jay takes Cole to see a musical and recognizes Brody (who he hasn’t been in contact with since he left) and they talk after the show leading down the road of all Cole’s old college friends meeting the ninja

Random Facts: He’s dating Vinnie and NO ONE CAN STOP ME, he’s sorta supposed to be Cole’s foil (where Cole is blasting My Chemical Romance and AC/DC he’s blasting Boogie Box High and SOS Band), he’s a mash of all the other ninjas personality’s not gonna lie

Tony Tabloid

Description: 12-14ish, shorter side but gets a major growth spurt when older, short black/brown hair, missing tooth, classic news boy hat that’s to big for him

Personality: Bright young boy with plenty of street smarts, will talk your ear off, full of himself and would fight anyone or anything no matter their size, very energetic but with a cool attitude

Backstory: Orphan at Walker’s Home (Jay’s rich and built an orphanage cause he’s nice like that) in Ninjago city, was on the street since young age, ex-thief, turned around at Walker’s though and now is head of the Ninjago city newspaper delivery (probably knows Nelson)

Plot Purpose: All the ninja seem to have a child that gives them advice at one point or another so here’s Jay’s, Jay has the rights to the Star Fairer enterprise (unknown to the other ninja) and when Lloyd mentions they should make new movies but can’t he goes about making it happen, he makes it all seem like he’s uninvolved but somehow gets them vip passes to see the movie in action (he says it’s from his ex-acting career connections), Tony is playing the younger version of Fritz’s son (our main character) in flashbacks, Jay is the one who got him his “gig”, he ends up revealing a lot of stuff Jay would rather keep hidden and probably almost dies doing something stupid and Jay has to save him

Random facts: Tabloid obviously isn’t his real last name (not sure wheather he chose it himself or people just started calling him that) it’s obviously related to his work, speaking of work he wants to become a journalist or reporter when he grows up, Jay gave him one of his smile buttons and he put it on his hat, I like to think in the future he gets adopted by Brody and Vinnie

Fievel Schmidt

Jay’s old friend, knew him before he transitioned, I mostly only use him in movie!verse BUT..., in show his mother is a mecahnic who buys parts from Ed and Edna, boyfriend ran off so she’s a single mom, the walkers always take a weekly trip into ninjago city to trade and sell so she’s a regular, Edna takes Jay and Fieval to the arcade and does grocery shopping, unfortunately his mom got seriously injured and can’t do mechanics anymore so they lose touch, plump and short, very sweet boy

Next Master of Sound

I feel like everyone forgot Jacob died in season 4 so here’s a reminder, he never had any children so it went to a random kid, little girl, Long black hair, she accidentally killed her parents when she caused their house in her small village to collapse from crying and activating her powers, selectively mute from fear of her own voice, Cole adopts her, becomes a next gen ninja I guess?, the only time she uses her power is when she sings (which Cole taught her to do)

*Witch doctor, Percy

Male, Lives in the Departed Realm, takes care of it sorta?, knows good magic, hangs out with whisps, helps the ninja (usually Cole) get home by telling them about a portal

Old Man

Grocery market clerk from ignacia, payed off hospital bills for Kai (14) after Nya (10) had an allergic reaction to perfume, Kai had work for him moving veggies and such for several months (got to keep some food though)

Snake Fam

Venomari lesbian who lives in the woods with her wife and 3 adopted kids (one is human), she (her kids) rescue one the ninja and bring them home to heal up so they can go save the others

Tagalong

Jay’s cat he had growing up...Not gonna talk about her right now [if you know, you know]

Villains

Felicia Blake

Scientist obsessed with trying to understand magic and elemental powers, thinks she can figure out how to channel elemental power like the First Spinjitzu Master did, very confident, only concerned with progress and no concern for individual life, ends up capturing Jay and experimenting on him :(

*Ali

Referenced in the Amulet of Ali which channels pure evil/dark magic, was the first sorcerer ever and basically made magic, was banished to the realm of madness and gained power there bringing back his learnings to ninjago, he wrote the book of spells which clouse and and garmadon studied under Chen (which is how garm knew the realm would give him power), Probably killed by Libber (previous EM of lightning) who sacrificed herself to stop him [but did she really kill him?!], Clouse gets the amulet from Borg Tower which boosts his power and now him and Jay have to duke it out like their previous versions did

???

Someone had to make Mr. E, I wonder who?, Jay took Echo back to Cliff’s flat to live after skybound and fixed him up, he might of done a few to many upgrades though and someone saw this as an opportunity, he was attacked while Jay was away and barely got away hiding in the secret room, unfortunately Jays blueprints were stolen (unknown to him) and the rest destroyed, Jay took Echo to the his parents but after seeing Mr. E he’s worried, now someone is throwing out new nindroids based on his designs and they are still searching for Echo, this mystery person plans to build an even stronger nindroid army to sell, prove they are a worthy inventor, and maybe take down the ninja along the way [do partially sentient multicolored nindroids based on the ninja count as ocs?]

*subject to my whims and could change to fill similar plots

#ninjago #ninjago oc day 2020 #ninjago oc #Brody Grey #Tony Tabloid #dont worry once i figure out how to draw cats ill tell you all about Tagalong #she gets her own post #Tagalong

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bubonickitten · 5 years ago

Text

TMA fic: Who’s There?

Sooo, I wrote a follow-up to this fic.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

Summary: Jon has a panic attack after Elias shows him exactly what happened behind the door after Mr. Spider took its victim. Martin helps him calm down, and Jon tells him the story of his first Leitner.

[CW for unreality, dissociation/drdp, panic attacks, tactile hallucinations, descriptions of spiders/arachnophobia, blood/injury, self-harm mentions (accidental in the context of a panic attack).]

By the time Jon shuts the door to Elias’ office, he can barely stand.

Trembling, he leans – nearly falls – back against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He's trying to untangle the dueling instincts to flee and freeze when his knees buckle and he slides down the wall to the floor. He’s breathing in gulps, shallow and quick, and when a long exhale dissolves into a shuddering sob, he Knows that Elias hears it and that he smiles, and Jon hates himself for it.

Elias.

A new wave of panic crashes over Jon when he realizes that the only thing between them is an unlocked door. The thought is enough to force him to stand, steadying himself against the wall with one hand as he makes his way down the hall on wobbly legs.

It’s easy, he tells himself: one shaky step at a time, no need to overthink it, just keep moving –

He’s nearly to the door at the end of the hall when it happens. Something in his mind fractures and he is a stranger to himself, a bemused observer floating somewhere else, somewhere outside himself –

…depersonalization: an altered state in which one feels unreal, as if one’s thoughts and emotions do not belong to oneself; often accompanied by a feeling of detachment from one’s own body and a dreamlike perception of the world around …

The Beholding pummels him with the information, an intrusive thought somehow made worse by Jon's awareness of its supernatural origin. Jon usually finds it comforting to have a word to describe his experiences, but it's no consolation now when he did not ask for it, did not ask for any of this. The way knowledge forces its way into his head these days, seeps into his mind unsolicited before he even notices what’s happening – he hates the invasiveness of it, the sense of violation it brings. Facts and figures bleed into the edges of his mind like so many worms pouring in through the crack under the door and burrowing into him and –

…he is a marionette with gossamer wire wrapped twice, thrice, a dozen times around his wrists and…

– Elias’ words wriggle in his mind like worms through flesh, writhing like a fly caught in a web, and just like that –

…the spider silk winds its way through the crack in the door, sticky and writhing; slowly and deliberately it twines itself around his arms, his knees, his neck, and he is pulled inexorably…

– and his head is full of cobwebs and all at once he is the struggling fly and the too-curious child and the hapless victim and the human prey –

…you opened the book, you stood on the threshold, you just as good as opened the door…

– and he is the hungry spider and the monster behind the door and the inhuman predator in the dark just watching, watching, watching –

…we both know that the Archivist in you can’t leave a question unasked or unanswered…

– as something Watches him back.

Jon is barely conscious of where he is until he's crossing the threshold to his office, smacking his shoulder on the doorframe on the way. The impact snaps him back to the present with a jolt, like a puppet jerked backward by its strings, and all at once he is aware of the staring. His assistants’ eyes bore into him as he passes them by; he feels their judgment and mistrust and anger and fear trailing behind him like the wispy threads of a broken web –

He shuts the door behind him.

But there is no escaping the watching.

The Not!Them watched him for months, delighting as he spiraled into paranoia and sabotaged his relationships. Elias knew all along, was always watching, is probably watching right now. And whatever patron Jon now serves – it never stops watching, does it? Watching him, watching through his eyes, watching through doors and walls and floors -

Is it still paranoia if you actually are being watched?

Jon is an insect under a microscope and a dispassionate Eye pries him open, considers the component parts, catalogs and categorizes, files him away and never once deigns to share its verdict: whether his classification is Jonathan Sims or Archivist, and what criteria should be used to measure personhood.

He is a thing behind a door, unsorted and undetermined, and he cannot breathe –

Knock-knock.

He opens bleary eyes and does not immediately recognize where he is.

Knock-knock.

“Jon?”

There is someone at the door, he thinks absently, but everything is muted, thick, cloying, and the thought disintegrates in the fog.

Knock-knock-knock.

Someone is at the door, but the sound is distorted, as if he’s listening to it from underwater.

“Can I come in?”

His thoughts are molasses-slow as he takes inventory his surroundings: He’s under a desk. His desk. (He thinks it’s his desk.) He’s huddled under a desk like a child playing hide-and-seek and, oh, there’s someone at the door.

Knock-knock-knock-knock –

“Jon, please open the door.”

He reaches up to rub his face and stops short, because there is something wrong with his hands. They're coated in something adhesive and coppery-smelling and when he clenches his fists and feels the skin stick, all he can think about is spider silk, tacky and clinging to his hands, his arms, his neck, his face –

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-

There is someone hammering on the door.

He is breathing too loudly. The thing behind the door will hear him.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-

He clamps his hands over his ears, mindless of the mess. The thing behind the door cannot hear him.

Silence.

Then:

“Jon, I’m coming in.”

As the door creaks open, Jon jumps at the sound, smacking his head on the underside of the desk. His eyes fly open and all at once he is present.

“Jon? Are you okay?”

Martin's voice, tentative and concerned.

As the footsteps draw nearer, Jon hugs his knees tighter to him, shrinking as far under the desk as he can. It’s childish, he knows: there are only so many places to hide in here. He knows when Martin spots him because he can feel those eyes burning into him and –

“Jon? What – Christ, Jon, are you bleeding?”

Jon looks up then, pupils blown wide. Even the low light stings, and he squints against it.

“Your hands are – is this your blood? Jon, let me see –”

Martin leans down to get a closer look and all at once Jon remembers his hands, covered in cobweb. He frantically rubs his palms on his clothes, digs his fingernails into his skin to claw away the layers; his heart is thundering in his ears, pulsating in time with his thoughts: get it off get it off get it off getitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff -

“Jon, stop it! You’re hurting yourself!”

And so he is: one of his fingernails catches the skin on the back of his good hand and now it’s bleeding freely. Jon stops scratching, recognizes the blood for what it is now. He begins flapping his hands uselessly, flailing, overwhelmed; he feels the tears coming again –

“Jon! Jon, listen to me. You’re – you’re hyperventilating, just… look at me.”

It takes a moment, but he does. His hands still.

“I want you to breathe with me, okay? Just – watch me, okay?”

Jon watches. He does not blink.

“Okay, copy me. Four seconds in, hold seven seconds, eight seconds out, okay?”

Jon breathes, mesmerized as he watches the steady rise and fall of Martin's chest.

“That’s it. You’re doing great.”

Jon isn’t sure how much time passes, but eventually his breathing evens out and the palpitations start to recede.

“Okay. Okay.” Martin sighs; Jon can hear the relief in it, almost feels it vicariously. “Listen, Jon, stay right here –”

Jon’s eyes go wide again and his lips move in wordless protest.

“I’ll come right back, I promise, I just – I want to get a damp cloth, clean off some of the blood, okay?” Jon hesitates, but gives a curt nod. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Just… keep breathing, okay?”

Martin stands and moves away slowly, quietly, like one might around a wounded animal. Once he’s out of sight, Jon hears him pick up his pace.

Martin leaves the door open.

Jon isn’t sure how to feel about that.

He focuses on breathing.

As soon as Martin enters the break room, three pairs of eyes fix on him.

“Well?” Basira begins, schooling her expression into careful neutrality. “What was –”

“Just a panic attack,” Martin replies, walking briskly to the sink. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Tim says, feet on the table and tipping his chair back until the front two legs are dangerously high up off the floor.

“Martin,” Basira asks, “is that blood?”

“Yeah. Your friend slit his throat, if you hadn’t noticed.” Martin hadn't intended it to come out as biting. In fact, he didn't even register how angry he was until the words had already left his mouth.

In all the commotion, Martin hadn’t really had time to let it sink in, but now that he's seen the damage up close, he feels properly horrified. He thinks of how proud Daisy had sounded in Elias’ office when she admitted that she had slit Jon’s throat. He remembers how she interrogated him when Jon was missing, how she didn’t care about what happened to Sasha, how she had already decided that Jon was guilty, how she seemed to be enjoying herself. He realizes now that all along her plan was to hunt Jon down, to murder him, to leave his body in the woods where no one would ever find him, to -

To let him become another goddamn mystery.

A quiet fury coils tight in Martin's chest, heated and itching to claw its way out.

“I thought it had stopped bleeding,” says Basira. She doesn’t sound cold, exactly – just tactful, cautious. It’s a de-escalation voice, Martin realizes. The caretaker and mediator in him recognizes it - he makes frequent use of it himself - but in this moment it just makes him bristle.

“Yeah, well, he opened it back up,” Martin mutters, turning on the faucet and holding one hand under the stream, waiting for the water to run warm. “It’s fine. There’s just – there’s a lot of blood.”

“Can’t he deal with that himself?” Leaning against the wall nearby, Melanie rolls her eyes in disgust. “He’s a grown man. You don’t need to coddle him.”

“Lay off, alright? He’s scared –”

“He’s scared – Martin, we’re all scared,” Tim snaps, rocking forward in his chair. The front two legs slam back into the floor with a loud crack. “He’s the one who went and –”

“I know, alright, I know – and you’re right to be angry.” Martin would be lying if he said he wasn’t still hurt over Jon’s behavior toward him in the previous months, but he’s had this discussion with Tim so many times now, and he's tired of talking in circles. “I’m still not just going to leave him like that –”

“Why not? If he wants to wallow in his office, let him,” Tim says viciously. “It’s all he’s good for these days anyway.”

“That’s not fair,” Martin says, tight and defensive but trying so, so hard to keep his voice even.

“None of this is fair,” Basira chimes back in.

“No. No, it’s not.” Martin sighs as he pulls a large bowl out of the cabinet and sets it in the sink to fill. “But fighting each other isn’t solving anything.”

“More to the point,” Basira says, still composed and so deliberately impartial, “we all saw what he can do. We need to talk about that at some point.”

"Is he really all that different from Elias at this point?" Melanie makes it sound more like a statement than a question.

“He’s nothing like Elias." There is no hesitation when Martin speaks.

Melanie lets out a derisive laugh.

And Martin’s anger finally boils over.

“You know, it’s not Jon's fault you’re here, Melanie!”

Martin rarely loses his temper. He hates conflict, hates the inevitable second-guessing and guilt that always settle over him after the moment has passed, hates how his size and height can make his anger look so much more threatening than he feels. Whenever he senses tension building, he puts all of his energy into modulating his voice, regulating his emotions, mollifying and pacifying until the storm passes, even if it means swallowing his own hurt in the process.

Right this moment, though, he doesn’t have the mind for appeasement. He’s angry with Elias. He’s furious with Daisy. He hates being in the Archives with the ever-present feeling of being watched. And he’s frustrated with Jon for – for always being in danger, for turning up every day with fresh hurts and new scars. Martin knows he’s not being fair – Jon can be reckless, and careless, and self-destructive, and his obsessiveness eclipses his sense of self-preservation to an unhealthy degree, but it still isn’t his fault that so many things want to hunt down the Archivist. It’s just – Martin worries, and Jon gives him a lot to worry about.

When he feels Melanie’s glare on his back, senses her gearing up to tear into him, he slams the faucet off and whirls around to face her.

“You chose to come here the first time, and you chose to keep coming back, and – and you were just as curious as he is, just as fascinated, just as obsessed, just as – as reckless." He breathes a short laugh. "God, you two are so similar sometimes, you know that? You chose to go chasing monsters knowing full well you were putting yourself in danger, and – and hell, Jon wasn’t even here when you took the job!”

Martin is shaking. He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, tries to rein in his outburst.

“I don’t care,” Melanie spits, her voice low and dangerous and laced with venom. “He’s toxic. This whole place is toxic and he’s so wrapped up in it he may as well be part of it.”

“We’re all part of it."

“Whatever.” Melanie throws her hands up and stalks towards the exit. “Go fuss over him and have him berate you for caring.” Pausing at the threshold, she adds, scathing, “Seems that’s all you ever do.”

With that, she storms off, leaving a heavy, electric silence in her wake.

“She… didn’t mean that last bit,” says Basira after a moment. “She’s just – she's not herself lately.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, all sarcasm and resentment. “Welcome to the Archives.”

Martin says nothing. He grabs the overfull bowl of water, snatches a dish towel from the counter, and heads for the exit, water sloshing out of the bowl and onto the floor on his way out.

Jon hears footsteps coming back down the hall – Martin’s, he thinks distantly; isn’t it strange how you unconsciously learn to distinguish a person’s footsteps when you spend enough time around them? – followed by the soft click of the door as Martin closes it behind him. He walks around the desk and kneels down, slow and soft and careful, as if any quick movement would shatter Jon’s uneasy calm.

“Sorry for the wait,” Martin says with a forced smile. He tries to keep his tone light, but Jon can sense the strain underneath.

Jon had heard the shouting echoing down the corridor, had been faintly surprised when he heard Martin raise his voice, however brief. He couldn’t make out everything that was said, but he had a general idea. He didn't have to Know; it wasn’t that hard to guess.

Martin places a bowl of water on the floor, dips a dish towel into it, and looks at Jon expectantly. “Is it alright if I –?”

Jon nods once, slowly. Martin starts with his hands, wiping away the congealed blood coating his skin. It’s odd, Jon thinks, how absorbed he is in the task. Martin pays attention to the smallest, strangest details; scrubs at the blood-encrusted cuticles and scrapes away the stains under the tips of Jon's fingernails, frequently dipping the towel in the water and wringing out the mess.

There’s a little crease between his eyebrows, Jon notices, the familiar one that he gets when he’s deep in concentration. Jon plays back all the times he’s seen it: Martin standing in the break room, carefully measuring sugar before stirring it into his tea. Martin judging a trajectory as he aims to throw a crumpled ball of paper into the bin across the office. Martin making handwritten notations when working on his assigned statements; whenever he made a connection, one corner of his mouth would quirk up and his writing would become more feverish. Martin writing poetry. And Jon could always tell when Martin was composing poetry at his desk rather than doing his job: he worried his lower lip between his teeth, and he always leaned closer to the page.

With a distant sense of wonder, Jon notes that he… never really made a conscious decision to memorize those details. He ponders vaguely whether it’s something he Knows, or if he’s simply been paying attention all along without even realizing.

“You doing alright there, Jon?”

Jon inclines his head and closes his eyes. It’s – surreal, how safe he feels just then. He lets himself drift, loses himself in the sensation of a soft touch.

When Martin turns his attention to Jon's burned hand, healing but still stiff and sore, he braces himself for the searing pain, but it doesn't come. That feels wrong, somehow, and - and, God, what does that say about him? When was the last time anyone touched him with kindness? He didn't realize until just now the extent to which the boundary between physical contact and intentional bodily harm has eroded for him lately; how automatic his associations between touch and fear and pain have become.

When Martin pulls away - How much time has passed? - Jon's eyelids flutter open groggily.

“Will you be okay if I clean your neck?”

Jon lifts his head to expose his neck and sits up straighter and -

He immediately hits his head on the underside of his desk again. That seems to animate him. He huffs irritably and glowers up at it as if it’s the desk’s fault for being in the same place it always is.

Martin snorts at that, then winces. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to laugh –”

Then Jon's mouth twitches in a tentative smile, and Martin relaxes.

“Are you alright to come out from under there now? It’ll make this easier.”

Jon says nothing, just scoots out from the little hollow under his desk. He still presses himself up against the side, still feels safer the more compact he makes himself, but he's unfurling, slowly but surely.

“Okay, tip your head back for me. That’s it – just, hold still.” Martin pauses, considers Jon’s nonverbal state. “Tap me if you need me to back off, alright?”

Closing his eyes, Jon lets himself drift again, allowing Martin to dab at his neck with the damp cloth. How is he so gentle? Jon isn’t relaxed, exactly, but he can’t remember the last time he felt safe enough to let down his guard like this. It was only hours ago that he had experienced firsthand how simple it would be for someone to take a knife to his throat and press; he should be much more hesitant to expose it like this, to have someone touch it when it’s still raw and stinging, and yet… somehow, this is fine. Good, even.

Jon’s hair has gotten long - When was the last time he had a haircut? - and some of it clings to his neck, matted with drying blood. As Martin peels the strands away from the skin, Jon shivers.

Martin draws back immediately. “Did I hurt you?”

“Mm.” Jon’s lips move mutely for a few moments before he manages, “No.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper and he clears his throat. “Ticklish.” Still raspy, but better than before.

“There you are.” Even though Jon's eyes are closed, he knows - Knows? No, just knows - that Martin is smiling. He can hear it in his voice, can almost feel it radiating off him. Martin adopts a deliberately bland tone when next he speaks. "You... really did a number on yourself."

“Accident,” Jon croaks out. Opens his eyes, clears his throat, tries again. “There were – they were in my throat, and I – I needed to – I wanted them out.”

It’s still fuzzy, but he vaguely remembers scratching at his throat, trying to chase away the sickening feeling of hundreds of tiny legs skittering down his throat and into his lungs and –

That little crease is between Martin’s eyebrows again. “What was -"

“It was – nothing, stupid, imagined, just – felt them crawling and I couldn’t –”

“Worms?” Martin guesses.

“No, no. Too many legs.” An involuntary shudder rips through him; for a moment he can feel feather-light legs scuttling across his skin again; he flexes his good hand, chasing the tactile distraction, nails biting little crescent shapes into his palm. “It – just, too many legs. And – and cobwebs, blocking my – couldn’t breathe –” Growing agitated, his hands start fluttering again.

“Okay,” Martin soothes. “Okay. Stay with me. You’re safe. Take some breaths for me.”

“Mm.” Jon breathes, ragged at first, but evening out after a minute.

“Good.” Martin leans back in and continues dabbing lightly around the wound on Jon’s neck. "Keep breathing, just like that."

Several minutes later, Martin pulls away and drops the towel in the bowl. The water is stained a muddy red, now, and Martin frowns at the sight. God, he wishes Jon was better at keeping his blood in his body.

There are still some watery, diluted traces of blood on Jon's neck and hands, but at least he's not caked in the stuff anymore. Looking at the inflamed gash on his neck, Martin feels that little flicker of rage again, and tries not to let it show on his face.

“I have to change out the water before I do more. It might be easier to do the rest in front of the sink, though. And we should really bandage your neck and - and your burn. You, uh, probably want to change, too – you’ve got blood... well, everywhere. I assume you still have some spare clothes in the storage room?”

Jon is looking down now, picking at a ragged cuticle on his burned hand. Martin assumes that means he’s not ready to move quite yet.

“Do… do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No,” Jon whispers, but he has a peculiar look on his face, like he’s working up to something. Martin recognizes it – a sort of faraway look, like he’s gone into his own head for a moment to commune with his own thoughts. It always puts Martin in mind of a wait cursor or a blinking ellipsis.

It isn’t uncommon for Jon to trail off and walk away mid-conversation. When they first started working together, Martin assumed it was that he said something wrong, or that it was just one more way for Jon to snub him. But more often than not, a few hours would go by and Jon would pick up the conversation right where it left off, as if it had never stopped. Jon is buffering, Martin thought to himself with a smile when he first realized what was happening. It was almost endearing, the idea of Jon taking something - something Martin said, no less - so deeply into consideration that he spent hours thinking on it before composing a response.

On the other hand, Jon was equally as likely to dismiss something outright without even entertaining the possibility of a discussion. The contrast could be jarring, and even after all this time, Martin still hasn’t quite discerned any pattern that will let him predict which version of Jon he’s dealing with at any given time.

Either way, Martin is good at sitting with silence. And this silence is heavy, but not uncomfortable.

“I don’t,” Jon continues eventually, frowning slightly. “But… but I think I should?”

“Okay?” Surprise slips into Martin’s voice before he can tamp it down, but if Jon notices, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Apparently Elias can – can put knowledge in someone’s head? Or – mine at least, I don’t know if it has something to do with what I am, or if he can do it to anyone, but he…” Clearly searching for the right words, Jon opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I mean, I was already on the verge of a breakdown, wasn’t I?” His voice breaks and he covers it with a bitter smile. “I suppose I – I just needed one more little push.”

Martin resists the urge to point out that having the threat of imminent death hanging over your head every waking moment is more than a little push.

“He showed me – I saw – it… he made me Know, and I had to watch, and I felt how it –”

“Stay with me, Jon.”

Martin rests his palm on Jon’s unburned hand, then pulls back immediately, instinctively feeling as if he had crossed a line.

But Jon chases his hand and grasps it tightly. He doesn't make eye contact. “Is this okay?”

“I – sure, I mean – yes, of course,” Martin sputters. He feels his face heat and hopes Jon is still too foggy to notice how flushed he must be.

“Mm.” Jon shakes his head and laughs nervously. “I… this is harder than I thought.”

“Would... would it help to frame it as a statement?”

Jon seems to consider that for a long moment before shaking his head. “No. No, I don’t think so. I already gave a statement about this matter, and it feels... wrong, in some way, for me to offer the same statement a second time.”

Martin doesn’t really get it, but he takes Jon’s word for it.

“What if I… if I asked a direct question, would that help? I mean, I can’t compel you, obviously, but –”

“Okay.”

“What?”

Martin has never known Jon to be this receptive to his input. Jon just shrugs, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“Ask me.”

“O...kay. Right. Um, so, what did Elias say to you?”

After a moment's pause, Jon begins to speak.

“He… he Knew something that I never told anyone before.” He starts slow, but seems to gain confidence after a few words. “The thing that first pushed me toward the supernatural, that started me on the path to – well, to all of this. Odd, to think that just… opening a book could lead me here.” His voice drops to a near-whisper. “I was only eight.”

“A book?” Martin frowns. “You don’t mean –”

Jon smiles, but it’s a fragile, humorless thing. “My first Leitner.” He takes a deep breath and speaks through the exhale. “A Guest for Mr. Spider.”

“Oh,” Martin whispers as the pieces fall into place.

“Yeah. I knew it was – wrong, somehow, but I just… I had to know, so I opened it, and I… I read.” Jon swallows hard and leans forward, curling in on himself somewhat. “I started walking. I didn’t know where the book was taking me, and I couldn’t stop reading, couldn’t even blink.” A pause as he maps out his next words. “There was… an older kid in my neighborhood. He wasn’t very keen on me. I was an annoying child, easily bored, always trying to show off how much I thought I knew. Never really was good at people.” He huffs a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Guess that hasn’t changed. Anyway, he – he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or – or maybe I was, but he decided to knock the book from my hands and it… broke the hold it had on me.” Jon gives a little half-shrug, and his voice drops to a low murmur. “He didn’t mean to, but he saved my life.”

Jon’s thumb rubs absentminded little circles on Martin’s hand, and Martin feels his heart skip a beat. Focus.

“Anyway, he – he picked up the book, and he opened it, and then he was reading. And he started walking. I didn’t know what to do, so I followed him.” Martin notices frantic, rapid little movements behind Jon's shut eyelids. “And then he was standing in front of a door, and he knocked, and it opened, and the – the thing behind the door pulled him in. I never saw him again.” Jon falls quiet for a long moment, his jaw tensing and unclenching. When he finally opens his eyes, they’re brimming with tears. “I don’t even remember his name. He died in my place, and I don’t – he deserves to be remembered, but I can’t –”

Martin gives Jon’s hand what he hopes is a reassuring little squeeze.

“I – I never knew what really happened to him, you know? The door closed, and I just… left him to his fate, what was supposed to be my fate. I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened after the door closed. I was certain he must have died – hoped he was dead, because the alternative was...” Jon shudders miserably. “I obsessed over it, how he died, how long it took, whether it hurt, whether he was afraid, and – well, you can guess what a child’s imagination can do with that. Though I rather think my imagination now is just as overactive as it was back then. Certainly still obsessive enough.

“There’s something uniquely torturous about the not knowing, about the way the brain can flesh out a scene with mere scraps. I used to think that – that if I knew what happened behind the door, it would be better, because at least I would know, and I wouldn’t have to see a million variations in my nightmares. I could just – just have the one nightmare, and acclimate to it.

"But I was wrong. Elias – he showed me – showed me what happened, and made me feel it and it – I…” His voice gets very soft, and he glances at Martin with haunted eyes. “You know how spiders feed, Martin.”

“Oh, Jon.” Martin can hear his voice crack. “I’m so sorry, I – I knew you didn’t like spiders but I didn’t realize – God, all the times I’ve prattled on about them –”

“No, I – it’s fine, you couldn’t have known.” Jon waves him off. “In fact, I actually used to seek out information on them when I was a child. I thought if I learned everything I could about them, examined them through a – a detached, academic lens, I could get over the fear. But apparently a phobia doesn’t care about – about ecological niches, or the wonders of evolution, or…” He trails off and a shadow passes over his face. “I suppose I’ve always assumed that I could solve a problem if I just learned everything there is to know about it. Spent years making myself miserable obsessing over spiders and nothing changed.” His laugh is brittle. “Knowledge at any cost."

Another heavy silence falls. Judging from Jon's expression, there's more; he treats conversations like impossibly complex puzzles sometimes, picking his way through words to find one that will slot just so into a sentence. Martin wonders how Jon would react if he ever told him that that's what writing poetry is like.

"The thing is, though," Jon continues after a minute, "I think it’s only right, for me to know what happened to him in the end? Because why should I be spared from the knowledge when it’s my fault he –”

Jon’s breath hitches; he struggles to compose himself before continuing.

“But beyond that, it just feels right for me to know. Like I’m owed every scrap of knowledge that comes my way, as if I have every right to consume and possess these stories. And I hate it, Martin,” he says with sudden, surprising ferocity. “I hate it because I’m just this – this uncaring watcher drinking it all in, and there’s a sick, detached fascination that comes with it, and I don’t know if that’s me or whatever master the Institute serves – that I serve, now, or… I hope it’s not just me, but even if it isn’t, I – I still feel it, it still feels right. But it’s not. I know it’s not,” he says, breathing in erratic, shaky gasps.

“When I read a statement, it’s like I’m there, experiencing it right along with them, but the fear is also – muffled? Like the fear is being filtered through the words – through my voice, before it reaches me. And hovering in the background there’s this alien thing – part of me, but not me – gorging itself on a story that doesn’t belong to it, doesn’t belong to me, doesn’t belong to anyone except the one who actually lived it. It just… worms its way into my mind, forces me to feel its pleasure at their fear. At my fear.”

He shakes his head, his voice thick as he chokes back tears. “God, I’m sorry. I’m treating you like a therapist.”

“It’s alright, Jon.”

“No, it’s really not.” Jon sighs. “I tried counseling once in uni, you know. Georgie suggested it. Quit after a few sessions, though. Not good at opening up, I suppose.” He shrugs. “And – and now? I mean, what am I supposed to tell them? That - that closed doors make me uneasy because I almost met a monster when I was eight, and let it take someone else in my stead? About the flesh hive, how some days I still feel the worms burrowing into me and it’s everything I can do not to – to grab a corkscrew and start digging for them?” He laughs, a little hysterically. “That any time I look at my own hand, I can still smell the flesh melting? That a man dropped me into the sky and let me fall, and then he was shot in front of me by a rogue cop who made me dig his grave? That she tried to shove a knife through my voice box for good measure? That I’m becoming a monster, no different than that thing behind the door, and I can’t stop it, and it’s my own fault for asking too many goddamn questions?”

He’s not even crying anymore, Martin notices. There’s something… hollow about his voice. Resigned. Tired. Martin’s heart aches with it, and he grips Jon’s hand more tightly.

“Jon, listen to me. You’re not – you’re not a monster.” Jon scoffs. “I’m serious. Look at you. I mean, no offense but – you’re a mess. Right now all I see is a frightened, exhausted human covered in his own blood, putting way more thought into what it means to be human than most humans do, and – and when’s the last time you even slept?”

“I don’t know,” Jon murmurs. He loosens his grip on Martin's hand and pulls away, scrubs at his eyes to wipe away the residual wetness there. “That’s not high on my list of priorities right now.”

And just like that, Jonathan Sims throws a wall back up between them. Martin recognizes the slightly stiff quality his voice takes on, and knows that he won’t get anything more out of Jon today.

But then -

“Thank you, Martin.” Jon’s voice is quiet, but somehow loud in its impact.

“Oh! Don’t worry about it, it’s – it’s no big deal –”

“It was to me.”

“No, that’s not what I – I didn’t mean that it’s not a big deal, I just –” Martin puffs out a breath of air, feeling flustered. “What I mean is, I’m glad that you – that you trusted me to help.”

“I trust you.” There’s a finality to it. It’s similar to the terse this-conversation-is-over tone that Martin is so familiar with, but somehow… gentler. Warmer. “Present tense.”

“Oh.” Martin’s voice is very, very small.

“I just…" He heaves a sigh. "Thank you. For being here. For being patient with me. I know I’m not – I’m not exactly pleasant to be around. I don’t make it easy to be near me. And I treated you, and Tim, like enemies when I - when you - when all of us needed allies.” He looks up and meets Martin’s eyes. “I'm sorry. But - I’m trying to be better. So, thank you. It… means a lot.”

He can’t stand to see Jon hurting, but some small, guilty part of him is still glad that Jon trusted him, opened up to him, accepted help – Martin’s help – for once.

Martin smiles. He intends it to be reassuring, but he’s pretty sure it comes off as a little delirious instead. “Any time.”

When Jon tries to stand, he accepts Martin's outstretched hand without another word.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tma fic #long post #tma spoilers #(up to mag 92)#spiders cw #self harm mention cw

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