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neko-naruto · 1 year ago

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Compact Confessional

Summary: Mysterion is holding something from the rest of the Freedom Pals. They should respect his privacy, they really should- but they only take it as a challenge.

Warnings: Suggestive themes, privacy breach, betrayal of trust, swearing, feral behavior (in Kite), the authors attempt at humor, heavy guilt, interrogation, it gets worse but then it gets better guys, I promise

Authors Note: hurgh K2, with the additional flavor of kitesterion because I went batshit over the AU to an insane degree. I have no clue when the Ao3 port is dropping. Sorry if some of the colored text, isnt colored. And fair warning, this badboy levels around 10K words, tumblr starts to lag around 7.5K for anyone curious. it is almost 3 AM (do artists ever stay up insanely late to finish big projects and get so sleepy they forget the hotkey for the eraser tool? I wouldn't know, but somewhere along the line I kept trying to write segue way with a Q because I was fucking disoriented) I need to go to sleep right the fuck now

Mysterion is keeping something from the Freedom Pals, he's keeping something from all of them. Maybe if he was willing to talk about it with someone everyone wouldn't find it so intriguing. Maybe then everyone wouldn't want to know what it is that's so fucking important that no one is allowed to know about it.

Super Craig tries to act like it's nothing super big, aware that if everybody paid no mind to it that it might come out faster. Tupperware followed suite with the idea, Wonder Tweek tagging in as well. Other members of their franchise were a lot less… subtle, about their interest in Mysterions secret, whatever it is. The Coon is practically begging him every single day to tell him what it is, Call Girl even joins in. Toolshed is pretty sure the both of them are just making things worse it they want Mysterion to come clean.

Human Kite is the only one that refuses to meddle at all, even Doctor Timothy has tried getting a peek in Mysterions mind. The alien is the only one that sits there and listens to him bitch about how annoying they are. The only one that pauses to look and listen and take in every visual and audible cue because that's what he's known to do since he first landed way back when. It tells him a lot about his teammates if nothing else.

Still.

Mysterion- no, Kenny McCormick is hiding something from his friends. And given the fact that it's barely coming out even when he's in a state of delirium or terribly wounded, it must be something big.

It's starting to piss off Kyle a little bit.

-/-/-/-

"Thanks for letting me hang out for a bit man," Kenny said as he pulled on his orange parka. He opted to leave his bleached cargo shorts and purple everything else in a pile on Kyles bedroom floor. It was easy to do that when the alien offered to wash them, "Chilling with Cartman all the time definitely does not do wonders for ones mental health."

Kyle gives a laugh, the kind that leaves teeth too sharp on full display. "Totally, I swear to fuck that asshole needs therapy," He stills his tail from wagging like he's a little kid, except, when he was a little kid he tied his tail up so it wouldn't be exposed in an all too human world. An extremely uncaring world for anything different then what they know as normalcy.

"He needs so much therapy," Kenny answered with, "See you tomorrow?"

"On our patrol, I'll make sure your suit is washed," Kyle said, throwing an arm to the side, an invitation for a hug. He wouldn't be sad if Kenny didn't take it, but he still can't help the way his heart skips several beats when he gets one. An anchoring tightness enveloping him, squeezing a comfortable amount on his rib cage that would hurt if he was human.

"Thanks Kyle," Kenny said quietly, head propped near Kyles shoulder but not quite tall enough to rest it on top. He pushes himself on his tippy toes to press the top of his head to the bottom of Kyles chin. He takes a dramatic step back and maybe Kyles tail is swaying a little bit with a silky soft comfort residing on his skin. He clasps his hands together, "Tomorrow."

"Yeah man, see you then," Kyle said, the instant he realized his tail was doing the thing he stilled it entirely. He felt a slight singe of cyan embarrassment. Stupid alien anatomy. Giving away how he feels.

Kenny pivots on his heel and gives a wave, "See ya man!" His steps are light and Kyle is watching with maybe a little bit too much intent.

He has zero legal rights to do so, but emotional and psychological rights? He has plenty. The first one being that he might've imprinted on Kenny the second his family landed on earth. He might've latched onto both Mysterion and Kenny like an orphan duckling in his childhood era of existing- so much so that he couldn't help the absolute giddiness when he learned they were the same. Maybe he got a little bit too attached to Kenny compared to everyone else in a human sense. But in an alien sense, in his instinctual sense, he was the perfect amount of attached considering how he thought of Kenny.

The second reason he stared was because Kenny had an undeniably amazing ass. That wasn't just personal opinion either, they held a vote after a particularly odd argument in the Freedom Pals lair. Kenny won by an absolute fucking landslide in the votes and voter fraud having taken place can't be confirmed or denied by anyone.

Except for Doctor Timothy of course.

And if there is a god, Kyle is praying everyday that the human one makes sure that Doctor Timothy doesn't look into the legitimacy of the votes.

Kyle barely drags himself back from his thoughts, he's been told he can get lost in them sometimes. His tail is wagging again, the multicolored diamond-like frills undulate a little bit. He swings the front door shut reluctantly when he can't see Kenny anymore. He tugs off his gloves and tosses them in a pile alongside his hat, letting the splotchy cyan coloration of his skin show. He makes his way up to his bedroom, but he finds his impossibly human little brother standing in his doorway.

"Ike, get out of the way," Kyle said sternly, giving a bit of a growl under his voice. His adoptive brother just quirks a brow in that annoying manner he learned from the humans.

Ike clears his throat, "No."

"Well why not?" Kyle questioned, growl snuffed and replaced with something louder and more resonant, it vibrated in his brothers flesh. It was something that Ike long since lost the ability to be intimidated by.

"When are you gonna stop inviting over your little posse of partners eh?" Ike asked, crossing one arm over the other. His tone was nothing but accusatory, Kyle saw through it.

"Are you jealous?" Came Kyles instant reaction.

"No," Ike responded with far too fast to be true.

"I'll play some video games with you on Thursday," Kyle offered.

Ike moved out of the way, "Enjoy wallowing in your disgusting room bud."

Kyle ignored him with nothing more than an eye roll, he made a point of slamming his door shut. He kicked aside a small heap of whatever, a mix of something or other he'd been intending to clean up. He gently picks up a small stack of comics Kenny had lent him and places them on his desk. Right beside the Mysterion charm. And the Mysterion action figure. And the other pieces of shitty Mysterion merchandise he had bought.

Okay, yeah, maybe he had a little bit too much Mysterion merchandise. He was just trying to put some extra cash into Kenny's pocket for when money is tight around the house. He just wanted to make sure his best friend was living a decent life, it wouldn't be enough to give him the life Kyle knew Kenny deserved, but it would help.

He takes hold of Kennys outfit and empties the contents of the pockets into a small bin. Loose change, granola bar wrappers, pocket knife, lock pick, the usual stuff he carried around for hero duties and then some. Kyle shakes the hood loose of any twigs or leaves and something large enough to clatter as it hits the metal netting of the bin falls out. His pointed ear gives a flick at the noise, he's dropping to the ground and pulling it out in a second.

He's completely enveloped in the mystery of what was hidden in Kennys hood because A: fucking genius hiding spot, and B: this could be what Kenny was hiding. It could be exactly what Kenny was trying so hard to keep under the radar, what he successfully kept hidden from everyone's prying eyes.

He came up with a tape, jet black, scratched plastic and a cracked see through window bit. There are silver markings across the black, seemingly unpredictable and laid out with either sharpie ink or a paint pen. The paper label is coffee stained and reads the date, recorded last month (why it's still on Kennys person is odd). The log number is left blank, presumably stated in the recording.

It was a jackpot and somewhere in the back of Kyles mind he knew he should ignore it. He knew this was shattering every rule in the book and that he'd be shattering his friendship with Kenny, Mysterion and Human Kite would probably stop being a dynamic duo at that.

But, he needed to know.

He absolutely fucking needed to know.

He wouldn't dare speak it too anyone ever, and he'd return it to the hood right afterwards. He wouldn't even tell Kenny that he listened to it, he'd just sleep at night knowing exactly what Kennys secret is. And that would be more than good enough for Kyle, he wouldn't need anything else.

He reaches blindly for his cassette player, the one he's held onto since he was young. One of his earliest earthly possessions, one he still cherished and used every day. He popped out the cassette already inside and gently placed the pilfered audio into it. He eagerly grabs his earbuds before pressing play.

Professor Chaos is pretty fucking sure doing this shit is helping out my mental state or whatever He doesn't know what he's dealing with He doesn't know that he's playing with fire trying to get me to spill my guts on his fancy therapy chair But, here I am, sitting on top of the police station fully decked out in my Mysterion persona just chatting it up with myself again

I already know exactly what the problem here is Chaos, the center of this massive shitfuck that even paid therapy couldn't fix!

I've probably said that a million times in every one of these stupid fucking recordings... shit I forgot to do that log date ha!

Ahem, log three, topic. Whatever comes out of my fucking mouth.

Kyle presses pause hesitantly.

Oh god.

This is an audio diary, just for spilling Kennys guts.

And he's listening to it.

He should stop. He really, truly, should.

But he doesn't.

Instead he presses play.

Where were we? Right, right, just saying whatever shit that comes to my mind . . . I'm pretty sure that Kyle thinks I can't see him stare at me whenever I fucking bend over or walk away I'm not complaining, I'm flattered really But jeez man just say it outright if you think I have a hot ass

The pause button is slammed this time.

Kyles face is burning up because Kenny knew apparently, he knew that Kyle stared at him at every chance he gets. He feels his stomach twist a bit because oh man, he got caught staring and Kenny didn't even mention. The usage of 'you' makes Kyle feel even more called out on the matter.

He could drop out now, maybe that's the secret, that Kenny knows he stares. He could sleep at night saying that's the thing he's keeping hidden.

I can't talk much if you put everything into consideration But still! Human Kite himself staring at my ass . . . That's fucking awesome if I'm being honest I would hope I'm being honest cause who else is gonna listen to the truth aside from this stupid tape

Like, I'm just doing whatever and I can feel it He is staring holes into me, somedays it's like he's hitting me with those fucking laser eyes! That'd be hilarious actually One second I'm loading a dishwasher and the next my ass is on fire because he couldn't help but stare The Coon would be laughing about that till he's dead

So would Toolshed

And Call Girl

And Mosquito

We'd all get a good laugh out of it

Except for Human Kite

I think he would die of embarrassment if he lit my ass on fire It'd be adorable Bright blue face, ears drooping the slightest bit, maybe his tail would do something I don't know He'd probably say sorry a lot All I know is that after I'm done putting out the fire I'd say "it's fine!" And then I'd think about how cute he looks for weeks on end

Fuck he's absolutely amazing in every sense of the word God, I'm supposed to use these to rant about my shitty family Not gush about my partner in heroics . Oh well

He's perfect! I swear on my mothers grave he is everything That grin he gets whenever he's about to blow someone sky high I can see almost all of his fangs when he does it, which are fucking scary by the way But I'll be damned if it isn't a little bit hot to think about He could kill me and I'll love him He could do absolutely anything to me and I'd still want him so fucking much

And!

And, and, and There's this little thing he does whenever he gets happy Where the weird bits on his tail like, shake? They move, his tail also wags But the frills don't move unless he's actually happy He can fake the wag but he can't fake the frills moving

It's so fucking cute and weird and different I love it

Anyways! This is South Parks number one worst superhero coming to you live from the top of the police station!

. . .

Shit I think someone heard me

Kyle is paralyzed as the tape ends, letting every single word soak into his brain. His tail is doing the thing, it's wagging. Every nerve in his body is alight and he feels his stomach twisting into knots. His claws are digging into the plastic of the tape player as he just stares. His eyes end up resting on his desk, his laptop, with all of his external attachments.

There's a rush to his movements as he grabs it and the oddest, most useless, thing he owns. A reverse recorder of sorts, a simple thing he crafted but never thought he'd have a chance to use. He flips open the top and jams the plug into it's socket before sliding the cassette as gently as possible into the gadget. He should not be doing this, he really shouldn't be doing this.

But he can't keep the cassette to keep hold of the audio, he needs too extract it if he ever wants to hear it again. Which is wrong, and bad, and he absolutely needs to stop but he isn't. He's clicking 'extract' and watching that loading bar fill up gratingly slow.

He places down his laptop gently and balls up the fabrics before leaving. There's a twist of wrong in his gut, but he ignores it as he swings open the washing machine door. He knows how fucking wretched this is, that he'll be absolutely ruined if anyone finds out. He won't be able to live down the shame of having anyone catch word that he knows the secret. That he knows what it is that's keeping Kenny wound up so tightly.

He'll just keep his mouth shut.

Real easy.

Real simple.

-/-/-/-

Kyle might be abusing the knowledge he garnered from the tape, maybe a little bit. He might be curling up next Kenny a little bit more than often, hunched under a flowing purple cape like a cougar despite the height difference. Just maybe he's resting his head atop Kenny's a little bit more than usual, purring a little bit louder whenever he comes into contact with Kenny.

He really doesn't care though, maybe there's a twisted sense of catharsis he gets from the knowledge that yes, it's reciprocated, despite doing nothing to change it. Being awkward homies acting like there's nothing going on below the surface is entirely acceptable and everything that he's wanted from Kenny the second his family landed. Definitely. Absolutely. He didn't imprint. He absolutely did not imprint. He killed off that instinct way back in fourth grade.

Right after he met Kenny.

One second too late. And he is one hundred percent sure everyone in his family can see it, even Ike! Except, the little shit will hold it over him if he gets a chance. Taunting and teasing that Kyle imprinted on his best friend instead of literally anyone else. Of course, the asshole knows better what with every member of his family sporting claws made to rend flesh.

"Kyle!"

The Broflovski perks up a bit at his name being called. Stan sits down across from him, sliding his safety glasses off as he does so.

"You good man?" Stan asked, Kyle nodded.

"I'm great, amazing even," Kyle said, he gestured vaguely as he spoke.

Stan stayed silent for a moment.

Kyle heaved a heavy sigh, "I think I fucked up the first day I landed."

"That was years ago, and just now it's affecting you?" Stan asked. He kicked up his feet to rest on the table.

"Yeah, and Kenny's sort of being an ass. He can trust us, he can trust us more than anyone else in this fucking town!" There's an exasperated exhale as he comes down from the near shout, "How come he's not telling us?"

Stan shrugged, "That's his business, if he doesn't want to tell us, just respect that."

"But-"

"Respect it," Stan pressed, "He might fess up to you first if you just give him time."

"I doubt it," Kyle muttered, barely loud enough for Stan to hear. His tail is snaking around his waist tightly. Tight enough he can feel it sting just a bit.

"Dude. Firstly, calm down," Stan said, Kyle glared at him. The ravenette simply gestured to the prehensile appendage squeezing the air from Kyle's lungs. He drops it, "Secondly, you're his best friend. If he's telling anyone it'll be you."

Kyle gave a hesitant nod, "Yeah, that makes sense."

Stan gave him a grin, comforting, grounding. He dropped down his feet and leaned over the table, holding out a hand. Kyle placed his atop Stan's, his hand was larger. Cyan tinted fingertips tapping along an open palm, "It's fine man, he'll tell us soon enough. It's not like he can keep a secret forever."

"No, you're right man. He can't keep a secret from us forever," Kyle said, a small grin on his face as Stan tightened his grip.

"Now stop stressing so much," Stan said, "Go get some calamari or whatever."

-/-/-/-

Kyle finds the next tape in a vent on top of Unplanned Parenthood while he's on a mission. He's quick to slide it into his pocket before Mysterion can notice. He can't just, jeopardize this discovery, he isn't even sure if he can call it a discovery if he's sure of what it is.

A shoulder collides with him and he stumbles just a bit. His arms are quick to push Mysterion right back up again. There's a crack down his lips and he looks to Kyle, "Get your head in the game, Kite!"

A blast of something or other comes straight at them and there's a brief second of hesitation before Mysterion is tossed out of the way and Kyle is ducking. The blonde is easily caught again and placed down, "Gladly," He takes Mysterion's hand, "Show me how?"

There's a smirk, bone chilling to many but it only makes Kyle's stomach flutter. Mysterion tightens his grip briefly, "Let's go then."

He's quick to launch Kyle forward with a running start, the alien tackling down whichever thug is on them now. Claws detract and tear through silver hued gloves as he snarls, easily dwarfing the goon. They're shaking as Kyle bares his fangs, tail thrashing about and body hunched in a predatory stance. Is he snarling? He is, he's proud of it too as he brings himself to be face to face.

He rears back on his knees, clawed hand raised and ready to slash. He goes to tear open their throat, but a grasp at the back of his collar prevents him. It short circuits him a little bit as the fabric of gloves press against cool skin.

"My friend here isn't exactly human," Mysterion said calmly as he released Kyle's costume. He stayed still and glanced up to Mysterion.

There's a shaky nod from the thug.

"Now, you have two options," Mysterion said. His tongue briefly slid between lips to capture the blood seeping from the crack. He circled around the dropped person a bit more, "Number one, you leave. You run to Canada, and never bother us again."

No response.

"Number two, Human Kite kills you. Right here," Mysterion snaps his fingers and as practiced Kyle gnashes his fangs with a growl, "Right now."

"I'll run! I'll leave!" The convict practically screamed.

"Fine, Kite?" Mysterion said. Claws come down atop the goons eye, deep enough to scar and maybe to go blind in one eye. Kyle stands up, red contrasting the cyan of his fingertips, he watches them run and revels in it.

Once they're far off, darting down staircases and running through the streets, does Mysterion take a seat. He drops down on the roof and Kyle takes a seat beside him, frilled tail wrapping around Mysterion's waist. A hand comes to push back the hood and he leans his head on Kyle's shoulder.

"Dude, being a hero is so sucky," Kenny said with a light laugh, "I just wanna get killed sometimes."

Kyle gives a hum.

"I just come back anyways, but we seriously haven't faced anyone actually dangerous in years," Kenny said, gesturing vaguely as he spoke to drive in the point.

"Definitely," Kyle said, Kenny dropped down onto his back. Kyle leans back to meet him in eye contact.

"I miss when this shit was fun," Kenny said, a sigh on his voice as he spoke.

"I think that most of us do," Kyle answered with. His tongue, forked, flickered out for a brief second.

"You're just like a snake man," Kenny said.

Cyan rose to Kyle's face, "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Like, your tongue. It looks like a snakes, forked," Kenny said, he did the spock thing with his hands as if to display forked. He stuck out his tongue at the same time, "It's really fucking cool. You got some scales right? And those weird little ridges on your back? All of those are snake-y things, Kyle."

"Yeah, cause I'm a freakish little dude," Kyle said extravagantly, as if to make his point he gave a set jazz hands, gloves off to expose to smallest bit of cyan webbing. He sticks out his tongue between too sharp teeth, "Absolutely monstrous."

"I'd hardly say 'little' is the word for you, ya six foot monster," Kenny taunted back, "And I love ya for that man."

Kyle barely beats down the intensifying flush on his face, "Well, won't stop me from being at least a little bit snake like. It's more fun to be a weird creature than a human anyways," He drops down and nudges Kenny's shoulder with his head until he sits up and nudges off the silvery cape. A hand rests in a tangle of red curls for a brief moment before the alien curls around Kenny's back.

"You're also very... Cat. Very feline. Very not human," Kenny said, words teasing but loving nonetheless.

He rested his hand on top of Kyle's head, gently sifting through a sea of red. He leaned back on his friends torso a little bit as he brought a second hand to run through Kyle's hair. He shifted around a bit to rest almost on his knees, facing Kyle just a bit more. His side pressed to Kyle's lower rib cage, his hands didn't leave the redheads hair for a second. He slid down his friends face just a bit, callused thumbs briefly brushing over the ever sensitive auricle fins he had. Were they fins? Not quite, just cyan flares at the base of pointed ears.

He let his fingers scritch just past the back of Kyle's ears, resting atop the buzzed patch of hair. Olive green eyes fluttered shut as Kenny just rubbed right there, the sweet spot. He slumps into Kenny's hands, chin resting at the heel of his palm (he can't see the gentle smile on Kenny's face).

The blonde nearly explodes when Kyle starts to purr. It starts soft, but it slowly grows, shaking Kenny down to his core with his side pressed against Kyle's diaphragm. Or his lungs. Or his whatever it is that makes that wonderful rumbling sound giving Kenny enough serotonin to live forever. He already will, but this is making that eternity sound a lot more bearable. Then he hears a thudding- three, soft thumps before it resets and happens again. His tail is wagging, Kyle really likes being scratched behind the ears apparently.

Kenny's pretty sure he's falling asleep with the pads of his finger, despite being rough and scratchy, gently rubbing behind his ears. He lifts his fingers for a second too long and Kyle opens up his eyes, "Why'd you stop?" He sounds groggy and disappointed, he stops purring.

Kenny picks up the motions, "You were falling asleep," He tosses his cape over Kyle's form.

Kyle lazily blinks, one eye, then the other. He shrugs the best he can, "And?"

"Good point," Kenny said on a hum as he twirls a finger through curls, a light tug.

Kyle's tail starts to thud again and he's sure the afterglow of this will never fade.

-/-/-/-

Kyle's feeling a little bit guilty about tuning into this tape.

Not nearly enough to make him stop though.

He drops down on his bed comfortably, he doesn't even bother to put in his earbuds. His parents are out for the weekend, his brother is at Kenny's to hang out with Karen, presumably fishing. He knows that he's bound to get a call from Ike sometime in the night for a ride, for Ike, Karen, and maybe even Kenny if it's really rough. But, he'll have enough time to listen to the entirety of it.

He presses play.

I think shits getting worse I'm not using these things properly I should be using these for literally anything else! I could talk about how much I worry about my sister, or my money problems, or whatever!

But I'm still using these tapes for just a few little things

Mostly talking about Kite Not gonna use his actual name this time cause someone heard me last week I'm pretty sure I ran them out of town For good

Do I feel bad about that?

Absolutely not

Gotta protect a mans privacy, even if that means blood and intimidation Which uh, I swear it didn't involve blood This time at least

Now, log number... nine? I'm pretty sure this is number nine I would go back and check 'em all out again, but I lost one of them No clue where the little fucker went But it's gone

Kyle pauses the tape. There's missing ones- he needs to find it before Kenny does. He can just put it back later, like he'll do with this one after he's done thoroughly listening to it. He put back the last one, slid it back into the hidden pocket and acted like it never happened.

Of course, since then he's always checked the hidden pocket whenever he got a chance to do so. But, he's been unlucky in terms of finding any up until this one which leaves him with the idea that the rest have been planted around town. He shuts off his rampant train of thought- he is not going to try and sleuth out all of the tapes. He still has some respect for Kenny's privacy, he still has some intention to keep their friendship intact, and most importantly, he still has full intention of never acting on any of what he hears in said tapes.

That would give away that he's been listening to them, a risk he can't take. He clicks the button again.

Look, I always knew Kite was a weird one Everyone does The guys alien, so we cut him some slack on human things that go mostly unspoken

Conversational subtext, call frequency, having beer on ice- simple shit

And in turn, we also try to learn a bit about his species culture I don't even know if species is the right word Does that make me racist? Are aliens even a race to be racist against? Could I even discriminate if only... Three, exist on earth?

So many questions, so little time

Of course, there isn't exactly a lot about his kind I doubt there's a lot of his kind His mom keeps making quips about how all of them would come to earth if it was easier to integrate But honestly? If you just got rid of the alien extremities I would not be able to tell that Kite isn't human

Same with his parents The lot of them blend in perfectly Don't know why she stresses so much And even if they didn't, they have a human to vouch for them A bunch of humans actually

There's a brief pause where Kyle let's himself think about that for a moment. He's never had a chance to think about it before. He doesn't really dwell on it for longer than a minute, flipping himself onto his stomach. His tail lazily sways back and forth as he listens/

I think I got off point there

Allow me to relocate and get back to what I was supposed to be talking about

. . .

There is a fucking line, Kite! You stay on your side of the line! You can't just walk over to my side! Just waltz on over like you own the fucking place! And just, act like it's no big deal! You just sit down right next to me. Like. Right next to me, are thighs are fucking pressed against each other and you lean into me! You just, push your head up against my shoulder like a fucking cat until I give you attention

Which I always do I'm weak

And then you start purring, and your tail does a dumb little wag! And I'm sitting there, begging and pleading, that I don't do something dumb You're putty in my fucking hands Asking me to just shower you in attention! I do, I always do- I always sit there and give you attention

Whatever it is you want I'd give it to you I'd do it for you Anything, for you

The voice softens just a bit, lowering itself. He sounded so very, very mad. Not even mad, just agitated. His voice is heady, wrapped into the narrative he's spinning so accurately. Kyle feels his stomach flip at the words droning so deeply into his skull. The notions made his skin tingle, heart pulsating so very fast he wouldn't be shocked if it exploded all at once.

But no! I stay on my side of the line Like a good boy

Because I don't wanna freak him out Or scare him off

I feel like such a fucking perv And I am a bit pervy I am fully aware of the fact that I am known to stare if someone fine is walking by

But.

To stare at Kite? To want Kite?

It definitely caught me off guard

And he isn't human He doesn't get it I touch him I feel like I'm dirtying him Even if it's just a high five! I have too much on mind for this shit

I see that idiot and you know what I wanna to do?

Do you even wanna to know what I want do to him?

Kyle slams the pause button, he can feel his nerves shoot up in shock. His tail has went from lazily thumping back and forth to wagging like that of a dogs. The minute ridges on his back are shaking, just a bit. He may be mildly cold-blooded, but right now he really can't tell.

He looks down at his hands and they're entirely cyan, normally just a little bit at the tips. The hue shoots up his forearms. He can practically hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, the sound bangs back and forth in his skull.

Oh.

Oh he's opened up a massive can of worms with this tape.

He keeps listening

I'd just

I would-

Fuck man I can't even say it out loud I don't know what I was thinking!

I'm sitting on top of city hall and I was about to go off about how I'd fuck him!

Could I even fuck him? Are the species compatible? Do aliens even have reproductive organs?

They must They totally do How else do they, how do they reproduce? Eggs?

. . . Nasty

But I would fucking worship him I would do whatever he asked me too Even if he's too unversed in human reproduction to ask me too fuck him up I'd still do what he asks me too

You wanna go out at that new pizza place that charges by the minute? Let's go darling

You wanna go check out the newest arcade cabinet? Baby, the cars already running

You want me to get your logo as a tramp stamp? I might not do that one actually . That's a lie I'd do anything for him

. . .

God, I'm such a mess I need real therapy

Kyle has long since buried his face in a pillow to muffle his screams (although they're closer to high pitched squeals) and cover his ears. He feels like he's running a fever, a really, really bad fever. Every square inch of his body is on fire and he can't care much that he's clawing into his pillow, downy soft feathers spilling from gouges.

He's drawing a blank.

A complete and utter blank.

He hears the click signalling it's over and he feels his stomach twist in regret.

It's a lot easier to hide that you know something if said something isn't... that, whole thing that just happened. His ears are ringing a little bit as the words ping around the sides of his head, like a game of Pong. The pillow is still keeping his face covered as he rolls onto his back, then his side, then his front, and his side again, knees pressed flush against the wall. Fuck, he feels like he's sixteen all over again, and that was just three years ago! He's too young to be having moments like this.

He mechanizes his breathing, eyes wide open as he stares at the darkness of the space themed pillow case in front of him. Sheer darkness with the occasional blip of a lighter hue. His tail is still thrashing, whipping back and forth madly, he's sure it would scuff the wall if it hit it.

He has to come down from his safe space eventually. Even if that safe space is merely a pillow pressed to his face.

He tosses aside the pillow and rolls onto his back and just stares at the ceiling.

His entire existence has officially been flipped on it's head.

He hears his cell phone ring and he reaches for it, answering before even checking whose calling. He gives a cracked, "Hello?"

"Dude are you good? You sound like you've just been crying," Came Kenny's voice, concern laid on thick.

Kyle nearly hangs upon the spot but instead he bites his tongue and doesn't say a word.

"Look man, dads being a bit of an ass, and Ike was wondering if you could come pick him up for the umpteenth time," Kenny said. He gave a hum, "Could Karen tag along?"

"Totally man," Kyle answered with as he sat up, trying so hard to still his tail. It swiped back and forth atop the blankets, he felt a little bit wrong about not telling Kenny what he knew right now. But, this is a bad time to do that, any Kyle can lie his way out of it again. He hesitates before adding, "You need an escape too?"

"It'd be nice, but you already sound tired. Did I catch you at a bad time? Were you perhaps 'jacking it', my fine, alien friend?" Kenny asked tauntingly, his smugness was palatable.

Kyle wished he could just say 'yeah' and move on instead of carefully think over his next words. Life would much simpler if his head didn't catch on the usage of 'fine' in referral to himself. His mouth felt dry but he choked out some words anyways. "Dude, what makes you think I even have a dick? I got that weird ass alien biology, don't I?""

There's a laugh on the other side, "Hey man, not all of my shots are gonna be spot on. But really, if you don't want me over I won't come," There's an tenderness to his voice and the contrast to the almost gritty and desperate tone he had on the tape gives Kyle whiplash.

"You can if you want too, but I'll probably pass out pretty fast," Kyle lied. He'd just lay in bed, wide awake, for potentially hours with Kenny on the floor beside him. That's how it usually went at least.

"Going full on feral like you did earlier takes a lot out of you, doesn't it?" Kenny asked.

Silence.

"Silent treatment, did I strike a nerve bud? Regardless, we'll be out front in ten," Kenny said, "I can make you some hot coco if you'd like."

"That'd be nice," Was Kyle's weak response.

-/-/-/-

The night was a lot more tense than either of them wanted it to be.

They usually shared a hug before actually getting into bed and trying to pass out. And if not that then Kyle would subtly demand some time to just, co-exist, in very close proximity to each other. In even more minimal situations, they would just share some words of 'love you bro' and call it a night.

None of that transpired.

"I can just go home man," Kenny offered at the break of two AM.

Kyle rolled over to the edge of his bed, leaning over it just a bit, "It's fine."

"Is something wrong? Cause like, you've just been acting... off, lately," Kenny said gently as he propped himself on his elbows, both resting on his pillow.

"Nothings wrong," Kyle said, he crossed his arms and rested his chin on them, "I am gonna ask my parents some questions when they get back."

"About what?" Kenny asked quietly, as though he were afraid of shattering the night if he spoke too loud. The navy walls cast deep blue across the room, reflecting the moonlight in a comfortable darkness.

Kyle stayed silent.

"Alien stuff?" Kenny asked.

Kyle nodded, "Yeah, alien stuff."

"Fun," Kenny answered with a scoff. He dropped back down again and turned to face Kyle, Kyle's bed frame at least, "But for real, you're just- somethings going on in your head. I can tell."

Kyle shrugged, "It's stupid."

"I won't judge man, you're my best friend," Kenny said. And he said it in such a way that for a brief second Kyle forgot about the tapes entirely.

"How are you supposed to talk to someone about something you don't want too?" Kyle asked, trying to withhold and give equal amounts of information.

Kenny paused, "Work out the words in your head. Practice once or twice, maybe even record it. Figure out what needs to be reworked. Write it out if you must- just get it out of your head."

Kyle nodded.

"Trust me man, the second it's out of your head and off your shoulders, life will be easier," Kenny explained reassuringly, "Even if it's only for a second or two."

"Thanks bro," Kyle said quietly.

"Least I can do," Kenny said.

There's a beat of hesitance, "Love you man."

"Love you too," And then Kenny turns away from him, tugging the blanket up to his shoulders.

-/-/-/-

Kyle's pretty sure that Kenny is onto him at this rate, but, he tries to ignore the terrible slithering sensation that he's been caught.

He just focuses on whatever comes next.

This time it's none other than The Coon himself deciding he needs to bring something up with Kyle. Silence drenches the room in the worst way possible as he sits across from the hybrid. Furred ears are swiveled to face Kyle and it makes him feel impossibly nervous, he knows that Cartman can hear his heartbeat. Can it hear pick up speed when Stan sits down beside him, even more so when Wendy joins.

And then Clyde, Timothy, Jimmy- all on one side of Cartman.

Tweek and Craig sit down on the side with Wendy and Stan, Scott as well.

"We know you figured it out, Kyle," Cartman said calmly, tone frigid in a way that makes Kyle feel paralyzed. The hybrid clasps his hands together in front of himself on the table.

"Figured what out?" Kyle snaps back with, trying his hardest to muster the usual snarkiness he has around Cartman. Bute he fails, miserably at that. He just sounds pathetic, grasping at straws if nothing else.

"Don't play dumb," Wendy said, she sounded sharp. She may be tough as nails, and normally Kyle respects that, admires it even, but when it's directed towards him? He gets why people run from Call Girl.

"Why in the cosmos should I tell the likes of you?" Kyle answered with, feebly trying to defend Kenny's privacy.

A privacy that he had already thoroughly breached and ravaged, alongside the unspoken trust they had. He had wrecked it, ruined it, destroyed it- but he could salvage it from the fact Kenny didn't know that Kyle knew.

"You can trust us, Kyle. We're your best friends," Clyde said. And he was right, he was so right.

Kyle's tail snaked itself around the chair leg, "Really guys, I don't know what you're talking about-"

"His secret, Kyle," Cartman said, "Tell us."

"I," He hesitated, "I can't."

"You've already fucked up your relationship with him enough, Kyle. I got Wendy to do a deep dive on your species, and of the few things she could find, she discovered this," Cartman said. He raised a folder, an awful beige and orange hue, and slid it over to Kyle.

The alien hesitantly took it. It was three pages thick, presumably doubled sided. He opened it and skimmed through the headings, he knew every single trait in and out. He paused at the highlighted one, "You're joking."

"This is serious man," Stan said, "We wouldn't just accuse you of imprinting of Kenny without any basis."

"That's stupid. He's my best friend. That's all, that's our dynamic- the kind of dynamic that rakes in loads of cash," Kyle defended with, hoping that pressing on Cartman's one pressure point would make him let up. He slammed the folder shut and slid it back, "Even if I did imprint on him, it would ruin the franchise and never be reciprocated."

"Then tell us what the secret is, you have nothing to lose, no? Just a friend, they come and go on earth," Cartman said. He was calling Kyle's bluff, did he even realize it? He probably did, or if he didn't, he'd snoop until he did.

"Ask Professor Chaos instead, he knows more," Kyle said, trying so, so hard to deflect. The tension pooling everywhere under his skin was agonizing. He needed an out so bad, he needed an escape so, so fucking bad.

Cartman scoffs, "Already done, he said he was sworn to some oath of secrecy, sent us to you."

Kyle stays silent, forcing eye contact with the sleaze in front of the him. The trash eater himself, scraping tactics from the bottom of the barrel.

"Just tell us, no harm will come from it," Cartman said sternly.

"It'll destroy my friendship with Kenny," Kyle snarled out.

"No new harm will come from it, we all know the damage has been done my friend, it's just yet to be discovered," Cartman said, words cutting into Kyle like a knife.

He bites his tongue, Cartman's right, "Give me a week to collect more information on the subject, then I'll report back with the news."

There's a smug and satisfied grin on Cartman's face as he leans back, "See? That wasn't so hard, was now?"

Kyle stands up and pushes away from the table, "I'm going."

"Don't forget about your patrol with Mysterion tomorrow evening, Kite!" Cartman calls out, head leaned back on his chairs backrest.

Kyle's tail is swaying angrily, "Fuck off."

His fangs are grinding against each other as he storms off, if it weren't for the fact he was in suit he would punt the closest chihuahua like a football. Or do something else just as dumb. Maybe kick a fire hydrant and hope it doesn't dent, or punch a tree. Something to make the tense feeling uncoil, to let himself just relax for one second.

He doesn't deserve that though.

He's been uprooting the very foundations of his friendship with Kenny, all because of some morbid curiosity. And Kenny doesn't even fucking know. Kyle is just getting away with it cause he's being awfully slick with how careful he is to put everything back exactly where he found it.

The worst part is how long it's taken for him to feel genuine guilt about it if nothing else. He's such a fucking snake, biting onto his relationship with Kenny and refusing to let go. Sinking fangs deeper and deeper, searching for more even though it's cannibalizing itself. And the first taste is all that it takes to get someone hooked, shame that the thing he got a taste of was metaphorical guts. Kenny just hasn't realized he's stuck in this ouroboros of a relationship.

Despite that, a really twisted and messed up part of him persists in wondering when he'll find the next tape.

-/-/-/-

He finds the next tape almost a week after the interrogation.

Although, we're using the term 'find' rather loosely here. Instead it sort of, fell directly into his lap. And despite knowing better and not wanting to go any further, he still held onto it and didn't let go.

"Thanks for washing my gear man," Kenny said as he stood at the door, Kyle held the bundle of purple fabrics in hand.

He gave a smile, as convincing as he could manage, "No problem man, least I can do."

"See ya tomorrow bro," Kenny said before pivoting on a heel to leave which struck Kyle as odd. The blonde usually loitered for a little bit, chatted casually about whatevers on his head. But none of that came today.

Still, Kyle closed the door and walked down to the luandry room before shaking out the purple. There was that clatter, plastic against unfinished flooring, it was just concrete at the moment. He tossed in the clothing and flipped on the spin cycle with a bit of lavender scented soap. He slid down the front of the washing machine and stared at the tape.

He shouldn't.

He really shouldn't.

He does.

He grips the tape and slams it into the player and hits the play button before he can further question his actions.

I know you're hearing this, Kyle I don't know how long you've been listening to my diary for But it's you It has to be you

Kyle swears his heart stops dead in its tracks. He barely registers that the grit Kenny forces when he's acting out Mysterion has disappeared. That this is just Kenny now.

Who else would be messing with my tapes They're never just right when you put them back You leave scuff marks on the plastic I can fingerprint things, Kyle

I planted this one And log number twelve The rest though? I don't know how many of those you've heard

I'll admit I never meant for number three to fall into your hands I just thought you'd be kind enough to not listen in

. . . How wrong I was

And it's a real shame too You better not have told the rest of the team, Kyle I will make you regret every single breath you've taken if you have

But, that's only if I can get that intel from the gang Do be warned that Cartman is very easy to persuade It won't take me much longer than ten minutes to make him crack

The rest will go even faster Although, I'd give Wendy much longer Craig? He'll be shattering in seven minutes, tops Tweek? Three, maybe four Stan? He trusts me more than you'd expect, he won't even fight

I hope I was right about you being smart, Kyle

Kyle's blood turns to ice.

He is so fucked.

At least he didn't tell Cartman.

You already know my big secret And you have two options, Kyle

Option one: Meet me at Starks Pond tonight to confirm how you feel about the contents of these logs. I'm probably sitting there right now

Option two: Don't. This horrible relationship limbo can remain just like this, on my end I've been stuck here for years

Look, Kyle, what you've done here You're forcing my hand I don't have any other options

Do what you want

I clearly can't stop you

The tape is flung from the cassette player to the other side of the room, it hits the wall and cracks. A thousand regrets pool in the pit of Kyle's stomach and he wants to vomit. He also wants to curl up in a ball and die. Or live in Cartman's basement instead, those are all good options.

But in the same breath...

He's being given a choice when he was sure this whole thing he had with Kenny would simply implode, collapse in on itself and die. He has one chance to make this better than it is. He'll never be able to make this right, but, he can at least try and reinforce the breaking pieces before it's entirely broken.

He picks himself up off the ground and starts on his way up the stairs. He freezes at the door, is he gonna do this? Is he gonna go out to Starks Pond and talk like he should've far too long ago?

Yeah, yeah he fucking is.

The real question is if he's actually gonna say whats been fueling his co-dependency with Kenny for so long.

He isn't sure if he'll manage to fess up to the stupidest biological function he has. He'll try, he'll make an attempt to explain exactly what's been conspiring inside of his head without him even realizing for so many years. He'll at the very least get out a couple words to explain the dumbest thing he's been roped into by his own genetics and unfortunate timing.

-/-/-/-

The ever-present snow and ice crunches under Kyle's boots, but that's the last thing he's focusing on. His eyes are trained ahead of hi as he walks along the edge of Starks Pond. His tail is still, a very rare occurrence.

When he reaches the edge of the pond that Kenny's standing at he's lost his words. The blonde is just staring at him, looking for tells. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his orange jacket, bright orange, pumpkin orange. Kyle can't focus on anything.

"It worked, you nosy little shit," Kenny said, words weaponized with ease.

"Yeah, it worked," Kyle said. He took a step closer, "I'm sorry," and then another, "For everything really," A third step and Kenny tenses, flinching back just a bit. In turn Kyle steps back.

"For what? Did you tell them?" Kenny asked defensively. He sounded scared more than anything else.

"I know better than that Kenny, they did interrogate me though," Kyle explained stiffly.

Kenny gives a hum, "That gets that problem out of the way."

Kyle nods, "Yeah, that it does."

"So, you listened to three, nine, twelve, and seven, right?" Kenny asked.

"Sorry," Kyle said.

"At least have the decency to dignify me with an answer man, you just fucking ruined me. I had to record that final tape five times before it was good enough to use. I swear to god, normally I'd cut you some slack and now you know why, but not this time," Kenny spat sharply, "So, you listened to those tapes, right?"

"Yep, the four that you listed," Kyle said, his attempt to stay professional just made him sound stiff and disjointed.

This time Kenny faltered before speaking, "And your opinions on them?"

"Positive," Kyle answered with faster than a bullet. His tail flicked as he spoke.

"Anything else?" Kenny asked, desperation heavy on his voice. Thick like molasses.

"I think I imprinted on you- which means something different then it does for the ducks!" Kyle was quick to backtrack on his words, Kenny just looked intrigued, "My species has a 'thats the one' instinct. If we find the right person, it activates, and according to my parents at least, it's usually subliminal. When we landed, I imprinted on you- so, to me, you're the one. And for all I know, unless you die and stay dead, that stupid ass hormonal flux won't go down."

Kenny stayed silent.

"I'm stuck fixating on you until one of us dies, my kind mates for life, and unless I submit myself to experimental science the animal part of my brain is gonna keep screaming that you're mine. Which is kind of annoying, and dumb, and gets in the way- and I didn't even realize it until I found that first tape. I've just been infatuated with you since grade four and I don't know how to make it stop," Kyle spilled, some words meshing together in a blend of syllables. Cyan progressively rose to his face the entire time he spoke. He dropped down to the ground, facing away from Kenny and towards the water, "I'm so fucking sorry Kenny."

Kenny took a few tentative steps closer to where Kyle sat, his tail lay curled around him yet limp on the ground. His ears were drooping a bit and he looked ashamed of himself, a little bit distraught at that. "I'm not gonna disown you, Kyle. That'd just be fucking stupid."

"I didn't mean to ruin your life man, you could've been scoring. God, I probably scared off so many people without even realizing it," Kyle choked out weakly. He pressed his nails into the heel of his palm, "I swear I didn't mean to imprint on you. I swear man- I can try and suppress it."

"It's fine, Kyle," Kenny said as he crouched down beside Kyle. He bumped their shoulders together.

No response.

Okay, that was worrying. It struck a particular chord in the depths of Kenny's chest. One very, very similar to the 'my sister is hurt' chord, which unlocks a specific subset of reactions. Those reactions include:

A: Unbridled violence on whoever caused this B: Giving tried and true advice C: Terrible jokes and playful punches D: Just listening with or without a glass of warm milk

None of those options seem optimal, so Kenny improvises.

"I mean, the whole 'imprint' thing doesn't bother me," Kenny said as he sat down behind Kyle. His knees were bent and he rested his head on Kyle's shoulder.

"Dude I fucking ruined your life," Kyle got out quietly, his tail snapped to punctuate his sentence. It wrapped itself around Kenny's thigh, just above his knee.

"Beg to differ," Kenny said as he slowly raised his hands up. He gently placed them at the base of Kyle's skull, he tensed but didn't move. Kenny slowly rubbed circles in just behind Kyle's ears in the hopes it would calm him down.

Kyle leaned back into Kenny a bit, "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Half of those tapes were me going off about how much I adore you and want you, Kyle. I know you have a brain in there, put it to some use," Kenny said, a small grin on his face as he spoke. He could feel Kyle start to purr, "Just think about it."

Kyle paused for a moment, to just let all of the data sink in. He felt like a total idiot when the conclusion formed in his head, "Oh."

"Yeah," Kenny answered with, "Good thing."

"I'm such a fucking idiot," Kyle said with a laugh on his voice. He squeezed a bit tighter around Kenny's leg, constricting, like a snake, "Can't wait to confirm my families suspicions."

"Do they think we're a thing?" Kenny asked as he combed his fingers through Kyle's hair.

Kyle nodded, "Probably, apparently I've been signalling some very, very vulgar and subtle things to you with my tail for the past six years. I didn't even notice my tail was moving half the time, but it was- mom and dad had to explain that to me which was fun."

"Did you stop?" Kenny asked.

"Naw, definitely not," Kyle answered with smugly, "You never knew anyways."

Kenny gives a hum, "I would say I was giving some vulgar signs myself, but humans don't have a good way to do that discretely."

"I've noticed," Kyle said, "I can read half of you like books with all the tells each of you have."

"Guess Ill have to be even more mysterious so the guys don't catch on," Kenny said as Kyle started to purr, the vibrations rapidly picking up in volume. It felt nice.

"They aren't idiots dude," Kyle said, "They'll catch on soon enough."

"Or we could just walk in there holding hands one day, wait for someone to point it out and go 'yeah we're dating now' and just act like nothing has changed," Kenny said, "Even if we don't go to the movies or eat out at restaurants- that'd be funny."

"We'll see what happens first," Kyle answered with. He holds his breath for a beat, "Love you, Kenny," There's a veritable depth to the words now.

"Love you, Kyle," Kenny answered with the same as he always has, Kyle just never noticed the subtext. He presses a brief kiss to Kyle's forehead.

-/-/-/-

Stan is the first one too notice that Kyle and Kenny are different. A good different though. They're more synced up on the field, better at silent communication, just predicting each other in general. It definitely benefits the team as a whole for the crime-fighting, but whether or not the development is good for the franchise is a whole other story.

He's the first one to ask around about it too.

"Hey Wendy, Kyle and Kenny-"

"Are acting off? I noticed," Wendy said, cutting Stan short with ease. She glanced up from her phone, "I'm already scouring about for details."

"Anything actually come up?" Stan asked.

Wendy shook her head, "Nope, you'd assume that there'd be something; but most searches are coming up dry."

"Worth a shot," Stan said with a sigh.

"You should go ask Craig, he's pretty close to Kenny," Wendy offered up and before she could finish her sentence Stan was looking for Craig.

He was sitting at his desk as usual, cruddy costume and all.

"Craig whats up with Kyle and Kenny?" Stan asked.

And without skipping a beat Craig answered with, "They're homosexuals, Stan."

"What?" Came Stan's dead response, words hollow and in disbelief.

Craig nodded to the aforementioned duo walking in, "Go ask why they're holding hands."

Stan faltered.

"Listen, if you're afraid I'm right you should've asked out Kyle sooner to avoid it," Craig blatantly accused, the words forced the air from Stan's lungs like a sucker punch.

Now aware that Craig is going to keep mentally gut punching him, Stan just heads on off to Kyle and Kenny. They are indeed holding hands, and Kyle's tail is wrapped around Kenny's thigh, just above his knee.

"Look, you two," Stan began with.

"Yeah man, what's up?" Kyle asked, and he's hiding a grin poorly. He's sure that it adds to the confusion Stan is displaying.

Kenny was right.

This is pretty fucking funny.

"How come you guys are holding hands?" Stan asked quietly.

"Kyle imprinted on me," Kenny said bluntly, "We're dating now."

"How long has this been going on for?" Stan asked.

Kyle shrugged, "A month, we were waiting for you guys to notice."

Craig gives a smug, "Told you so!" from his desk.

"Were you guys betting on what was happening?" Kenny asked, an undertone of a snicker to his voice.

"No, even if we did Craig would've won," Stan said spitefully.

Kyle grins a bit, "No need to be sour man, you can still break the news to Cartman, I'm sure it'll be hysterical to see his reaction."

"Dude. Let's go find Cartman," Kenny said eagerly, he was practically vibrating where he stood. Hes grinning that gap tooth grin, "I need to see his reaction right now."

"Wanna tag along?" Kyle asked, holding out a hand to Stan.

He refrained from taking it, "Totally man."

Craig sidles up beside the three of them, "I got a camera to record it."

#south park #south park k2 #sp k2 #south park fanfiction #south park fic #kysterion #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #tw mild gore #tw swearing #tw betrayal #as you all know i was once again staring at artwork by kennysdeadbody. as i usually do writing K2. specifically those kitenny doodles.#kite is really just a creature. big ol' cat. he purrs.#kyle broflovski #kenny mccormick #stan marsh #small headcanon that craigs gaydar is off the motherfucking shits (also wanted to let him say faggot(I didnt))

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voxaholic · 4 months ago

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I've been thinking about Val's death in @randomly--accessed--memories au, both what led up to it and how it happened.

I was going to make this a whole ficlet but I am an absurdly slow writer, so instead I'm just gonna ramble a bit.

Important to note: Valentino had already been on somewhat of a self-destructive death spiral basically since Vox was originally tortured. Violence, sex, and getting incredibly fucked up are the only emotional outlets he has pretty much. He was never actively suicidal but it could definitely qualify as some sort of passive suicidal ideation considering his general disregard for his own well-being. His occasional weeks-long benders where he'd drop off the face of the earth were always extremely concerning. He had non-perma died multiple times over the years, probably around twenty if I had to name an amount.

Things got slightly better in some ways after they got Vox back from the hotel. He no longer disappeared for weeks but he had also gotten in the habit of picking fights with Husk and Cherri because although he was willing to do whatever it took to get Vox back he still ended up extremely bitter at Angel for being "forced" to free him from his contract in exchange for Vox. The stipulations of the contract he signed meant that he couldn't go after Angel directly and it even specified that he couldn't physically start anything with any of the hotel guests, but Val's nothing if not a great provocateur.

It was only a matter of time before his inability to leave Angel and his friends alone got him killed. To some extent, he probably knew that. Val's always been someone fairly comfortable with his own mortality. His main problem with his first death was how painfully drawn out and mundane it was. Death by angelic dagger is not mundane nor is it particularly slow.

So, Val gets stabbed. Whether it was by Husk or Cherri doesn't really matter. The burning of angelic steel is different from that of a normal knife so immediately, Val knows he's fucked. He's been stabbed before, more times than most, so he knows he's going to die almost the moment steel penetrates flesh.

His first thought is something akin to "fuck, well it's been a good run," because again, Val has never particularly treasured his own life or been at all afraid of death.

He then stumbles away from the fight, hand over his wound, and is faced with a decision. He could slink away to die alone in a nearby alley or he could use his last burst of adrenaline to book it back to the tower and give not dying alone a try.

It's a surprisingly easy decision to come to. His feet are already moving before he even realizes he's made a choice. He's probably got a good couple minutes before he bleeds out. He can make it.

Val does make it to the tower, stumbles in the main entrance, blood seeping through his fingers as he's putting pressure on the wound to try and buy himself some more time.

It's a close call. At one point he becomes convinced he's about to die in the fucking elevator and the thought of that happening pisses him off enough that it gives him one last burst of strength which allows him to make it to where he assumes (hopes) Vox and Velvette are.

He gets pretty lucky actually. He had no idea if Vox and Vel would be in the living room-esque space in Vox's quarters or not, but he stumbles out of the elevator and is so fucking relieved to see that they are both there and he hadn't spent the last few minutes of his life fucking booking it for nothing.

Vox and Velvette of course, are extremely alarmed when Val exits the elevator, beat up, bleeding, and swaying dangerously on his feet.

There's a moment where no one says anything, then Val teeters, and almost on instinct, Vox zaps from the couch to Val's side to try and catch him before he falls.

He mostly manages to just kind of awkwardly ease Val's fall so that he doesn't hit his head. Val appreciates the attempt regardless. It was sweet how automatic it was for him.

The moment of silence passes and suddenly there is a lot of yelling. Vox and Velvette are fucking pissed, Vox especially. It's uncharacteristic of him, at least, it is these days.

Vox had improved a lot from the seven years at the tower but it feels different here. "You fucking moron, don't do this to me" Vox growls, expression torn between anguish and rage. He keeps mentioning how Val isn't supposed to die this way, not from some nobody. It's a bit like seeing a ghost.

"There you are. That's my Voxxy," Val ends up mumbling, raising a hand to kind of clumsily caress Vox's screen. His extremities are starting to go numb at this point. It's getting harder to keep his eyes open. He's running out of time and he knows it.

Vox makes a wounded sound and grabs his hand, holding it tight enough that it would probably hurt if Val could feel it.

Val's fading attention turns to Velvette. She's at his side too, trying fruitlessly to put pressure on his wound. Fucking Velvette, trying to clean up his messes even now. He still has no idea what they are to each other, why he put up with her, why she put up with him.

He put her through a lot, will be putting her through more when he croaks. He's not an apology guy but he is dying and maybe he should say it to her just once, rest the last shred of conscience he apparently still somehow has before he dies.

Val opens his mouth and something in Velvette can just tell what he's about to say and she just breaks. "Don't you fucking dare," she hisses because if he apologizes now of all times he won't have to deal with the aftermath and she'll be left alone to process Val using his fucking dying breath to apologize to her.

That makes him laugh-- more of a wheeze than anything. "Well, fuck you too then," he acquiesces and that's the last thing Valentino ever says.

It takes Velvette hours to get Vox to let go of the body.

#ram au #val dies and vox and vel take his death way harder than he does #cw suicidal ideation mentioned

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pwurrz · 2 months ago

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eiden and yakumo’s comfort dynamic part 2, electric boogaloo: aka yakumo is good at comforting eiden!!!

so, obviously, yakuei shippers know this, and i definitely know this, but it’s been observed that yakumo is 1000% willing to open up his heart to eiden if eiden opens up his in return. basically, yakumo needs a trigger to comfort, but once he has it, he’s excellent at comforting eiden, saying exactly what he needs to hear in that moment. it often plays out like this:

yakumo will be sad about something but reluctant to talk about it -> eiden reveals that he feels sad/insecure about something/knows what yakumo’s feeling/has been in yakumo’s situation before -> yakumo will pick up that eiden is feeling sad and immediately comfort him -> eiden turns that around on him and says that’s exactly what he wanted to say to yakumo, comforting yakumo while also getting him to realize that the kinder, more forgiving and understanding thoughts he has in regards to eiden is how he should feel about himself

on the surface, it can seem like eiden is giving out more comfort because he has to be vulnerable first, but he chooses to be open and honest with yakumo. he has absolutely no problem sharing his insecurities with yakumo because he knows yakumo will comfort him in return, but also feel better about himself. and that’s typically how their comfort dynamic works.

until!!!!!

incognito cafe, despite only being an sr card, had a lot of character development for yakumo!! he willingly steps up to work at the cafe as a barista in order to get the clues eiden, rei, and blade need. he had been practicing making coffee for a short while before this, so he did get something out of the experience, but he was technically working two jobs, one that required him to constantly deal with people, while having social anxiety. and he handles this very well!!

yakumo’s found out that the process of brewing coffee is very calming and grounding for him. when he’s struggling to will himself to interact with someone he had a slightly negative interaction with previously, he calms himself by remembering how he feels when he brews coffee. and because he was able to calm himself down so well, the interaction goes smoothly!!

so, where am i going with this?? well, eiden obviously notices the shift in yakumo’s behaviour. and while he’s proud that yakumo is handling himself so well, he gets taken aback when for the first time, yakumo shows restraint and doesn’t immediately start having sex with eiden, despite his best attempts to lure yakumo in. he’s so used to yakumo giving in and doing whatever eiden wants him to do, that his sudden refusal and insistence on being patient almost seems like.. a rejection of eiden’s advances.

eiden gets insecure about the idea of not being able to tease and fluster yakumo, to make him blush bright red with only a few words. that’s the norm for them, it’s how it always has been, and it shows how much yakumo cares for eiden and values his opinion and praise. a sudden change like this, the idea of one day not being able to make yakumo flustered anymore.. i can only imagine how eiden’s mind might misinterpret yakumo’s actions and intentions.

and while eiden says this casually, almost playfully in the way he usually does when he talks about things during sex, yakumo immediately picks up on the meaning behind his words. and you know how he responds??

yakumo immediately comforts eiden, proving his insecurities wrong without eiden even having to say them out loud. he isn’t doing this because he’s rejecting eiden in any way!!! he still cares for eiden immensely, he cares about what eiden thinks of him just as much as he did before!!! the reason he’s resisting eiden’s advances, making him wait and refusing to be swayed by eiden’s teasing and flirtatious behaviour, is because he wants to make eiden feel good. he’s doing this for eiden’s sake. he doesn’t ever want eiden to think he’ll get tired of him, because that’s simply not true!!!!

because yes, while yakumo’s grown so much within the time he’s gotten to know eiden, he’s gained independence and confidence and learned how to calm himself down, he still craves eiden’s attention. he still wants eiden to look out for him, to support him, and to catch him when he falls. because he loves eiden, dearly.

yakumo’s love is fierce and passionate and unconditional. and if eiden doubts that love for even a second, yakumo’s right there to remind him just how wrong he is. he will never outgrow his love for eiden, ever.

#nu carnival #yakumo ♡#eiden #yakuei #minors dni #ITS YAKUEI VS THE WORLD AND THEYRE WINNING EVERY SINGLE TIME BABY #mouser muses #kind of?? also kind of a character analysis post #long post #really long post

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1yyyyyy1 · 1 year ago

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what do you think about poly? i hate it because i don't think its possible to actually be in love with 2 people without pair bonding more with one, or value someone while having sex with someone else. i feel like it's a cover for how shitty men and some women are at commitment. a part of me believes men don't feel true love or intimacy, but admitting that only makes me feel like i'm validating them when they say they can't commit and it's "unrealistic" but it's really just being a good partner.

I like not to think about it :) Everything I've learned about polygamy has been against my will… I distinctly remember a male on Reddit describe his experience with polygamy, in which he spoke about having a "polygamous mindset" for a lack of a better word. He was in a committed relationship with a monogamous woman and chose monogamy because he liked her as a person (I'm guessing polygamy was a hard boundary for her). He said that, aside from the pull to be with multiple people, him being polygamous meant that he was genuinely happy with his partner seeing (and sleeping with) other people and enjoying it; it didn't sound like he was describing a fetish and it was in general different from the idea of polygamy I previously had in mind. It stood out to me because he was mostly talking about his attitude towards his girlfriend partnering others and not his personal gain, so I could see how it could be a mutual dynamic between compatible partners. This kind of changed my opinion on what polygamy could be like if it involved emotionally mature and self-aware people, even if didn't make me understand the appeal any better.

Generally speaking, I don't have a strong opinion on polygamy (or polyamory) because I prefer to concern myself with the things that are for me. I can imagine polygamy working out for people, even if only within the confines of a thought experiment, so I'm not going to dismiss it on the premise that it is inherently dysfunctional. I'm not going to dismiss it in favor of monogamy either because I don't view monogamy as a sign of adjustment. Some people are into monogamy because they are obsessive and controlling, and monogamous partnerships are still notorious for cheating and turning into an "open relationship". I'm less and less inclined to be picking a side as people always seem to find a way to pervert whatever it is I would be supportive of... It is possible to stand up for your preferences without disparaging the other option — and risking being wrong in the process. The reason I would only ever consider monogamy is very simple — I don't like sharing my life on a profoundly personal level with multiple people. My overall personality traits coincide in a way that makes this unfeasible for me. I am very private about my life experiences and I would not share them with someone who is not fully invested. I also see relationships as a learning experience, and since I like getting to the bottom of things I would be genuinely distressed if me getting closer with someone were diluted by some other person's contribution. This may sound like a self-absorbed approach to something as reciprocal as a relationship, but laying down the precise terms on which you enter one makes it impossible for people to sway your opinion in a direction that doesn't benefit you. It doesn't matter to me if my standards are framed as "a desire for ownership" or "controlling", which are all common accusations made against monogamy. The point is that I would never consent to a relationship (let alone sexual contact) with a person who is not willing to match my commitment and views on privacy, it would violate my personal boundaries and I am better off not entering a relationship altogether until my conditions are met.

I would argue that there is an issue with commitment on people's part, but I would attribute it to something other than a specific relationship model. What I see is that most relationships are formed out of convenience, and revolve around reproduction, shared finances and sexual gratification. The reason I believe this results in commitment issues is because these are all non-specific traits most functional adults can perform and provide. There is not much ground for personalized bonding, and this approach can result in indecisiveness about which partner to commit to (if at all). This, of course, can also lead to multiple partners being a valid option at the cost of them being entirely replaceable... To answer the question the second time — I do think that relationships that involve multiple people can be a sign of poor commitment and superficial bonding.

As for men's inability to love, I don't see acknowledgement as endorsement and I don't understand why it is such a common notion. My negative assessment of people is there for me to have an understanding of what I am dealing with, not to validate said people. In acknowledging that men are incapable of commitment, I choose to allocate my efforts to someplace else because attempting to change a person's behavior is a waste of my time. I don't feel responsible for men's stance on faithfulness; I believe them to be capable enough to live in accordance with their convictions regardless of outside influence. I know for a fact that no amount of external validation would make me cheat on my partner, so it is not a stretch to extend these expectations to other people, including men.

#ask

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utilitycaster · 2 years ago

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Do you have any tips for a level 8 light cleric on how to be better at preventative healing? For context, I just joined a campaign where there's a house rule that healing from unconsciousness gives the healed target a level of exhaustion. Many guides for clerics tell you to wait until people are unconscious to healing word them, which would be detrimental in this campaign. When I asked a thread of self proclaimed dnd "optimizers" for advice, I was told by 3 people to wait until level 9 and stock up on diamond dust for greater restoration.

Hey anon,

So, to be honest, I hate the unconscious exhaustion rule, and so while I think the “optimizers” you spoke to aren’t dealing thoughtfully with your reality or actually listening to you, I do get where they are coming from. I also want to apologize for using this as an opportunity to vent a lot of stress, and have given you a brief summary in which I try to be normal and placed the venting at the bottom where you can ignore it.

The short-ish answer in which I am normal:

It’s ok and good to just heal people after they’ve taken a hit, and I actually disagree quite strongly with the strategy of waiting until people go unconscious to heal; pre-emptive healing is actually very smart. Also, talk to your party members! It is not metagaming to say “how are you doing”; it’s an acknowledgement that you cannot actually see the imaginary blood from their imaginary wounds. Build a strategy in which you use your cantrips and channel divinity, or if your stats permit, weapon attacks, to deal damage; and spam healing word. Alternately, if you’re willing to get up close and personal, Cure Wounds and Spiritual Weapon pair well together.

Buffing the party, particularly their HP, before combat is very useful. The spell “Aid” is your best friend. Casting Sanctuary on yourself and then focusing ONLY on buffs is not a bad idea either; Warding Bond and Beacon of Hope are also your friends.

This rule sucks and is very poorly balanced. It is worth talking to your DM about how it really hamstrings healers in particular, and has the potential to become a massive death spiral, and honestly isn’t fun or interesting. Ask them why they’ve chosen to use this house rule, and see if you can’t make the case for getting rid of it, because it is terrible.

The long answer in which I am unhinged, but am hopefully funny to someone other than myself, and largely say the same thing as was said above, plus more, is below the cut.

The good news? Always waiting until people are unconscious to heal them fucking sucks as a strategy even without this rule and people who say to do it are wrong. It presumes the DM isn’t going to have a particularly bloodthirsty enemy hit when you’re down; it presumes the wizard doesn’t throw an errant fireball; it presumes they won’t roll a nat 1 on the death save; it presumes the healer doesn’t get stunned or knocked out before they can get to people. Like, yes, sure, the last hit point is the only one that matters, but if they have 10 HP, and you heal them for 5 HP so they have 15 HP, and then they take a hit of 11 HP, then they are still up! Do you only fill your car up when it’s on empty? Do you only go grocery shopping when there’s nothing in your house but freezer burnt cauliflower, uncooked brown rice, and baker’s chocolate? Do you only go to sleep when you start swaying and being utterly unable to focus your eyes? Or do you ENGAGE in some fucking PREVENTATIVE MAINTENANCE and SELF CARE from time to time?

So I don’t have a formula or anything, and anyone who does have a formula is either psychic or overconfident, but having played a main healer, heal people when they seem to have taken a few hits or when they say “I’m in rough shape.” Lean heavily on decent damage cantrips (you’ve got potent spellcasting) and don’t hold back on using Radiance of the Dawn. If someone’s taken a lot of hits? Healing word them.

Some other things to consider:

Aid is an under-utilized low-level cleric spell that grants 3 of your allies 5 temp HP for 8 hours, without concentration. If you upcast it you increase the temp HP by 5 per level, ie, if you’re willing to use a single 4th level slot on this, that’s 45 HP you don’t need to healing word bit by bit.

In general, look at buffs. See below for why I think the actual solution is to tell your DM that this rule is hot garbage and they should get good; but until such time as that has been resolved I strongly advise taking advantage of the extensive passive damage options available to you. The reason why I think that telling clerics, specifically, to only heal when a PC goes down is so fucking bad is because the cleric spell list is literally fucking built on the presumption that you cast one thing and then spam heal. Spiritual weapon is a bonus action so that does assume you’re doing cure wounds instead but Spirit Guardians, Sanctuary, Beacon of Hope, Warding Bond, and Protection from Energy will all either protect you, do damage without you having to cast a spell, protect your allies, or optimize the healing you get. Also, pick up Mass Healing Word so that one person going down doesn’t turn into multiple people going down.

Tell your DM that this rule is dumb and bad. Maybe be more tactful than that, but also, maybe don’t! Because this rule fucking sucks. Even Rusty Quill Gaming, which was run in the far more unforgiving pathfinder, by someone who delights naught but misery and subpar financial management skills, did not have this rule. It really does make the role of the main healer about a thousand times less fun, particularly for a light cleric who has access to such things as scorching ray and fireball. I like playing a healer; I was a primary healer bard main for several years which really is perhaps the most non-damaging character you could play, but I still do not actually wish to be a healbot, and this pushes the healer towards that, and it’s fucking stupid and unfair and if I find whatever Reddit knuckledragger came up with it, I will make them require healing and take a point of exhaustion, that’s for fucking sure.

It’s a radical concept, I know, but what if the rules of D&D as written were, perhaps, means tested by people who considered both game balance and player enjoyment! The overwhelming majority of house rules are made by people who think their cheeky little addition makes them fucking Marcel Duchamp creating L.H.O.O.Q. but they are in fact a toddler drawing on the wall with a crayon that they are then going to stick up their nose, and then try to eat.

I mean, this is wildly out of scope for this question, but I think a lot of people see D&D Ideas (TM) on the internet that, at best, are made for very specific scenarios and should be used sparingly, in those specific scenarios, after serious discussion with everyone at the table and ideally unanimous approval, and should be frequently reviewed to see if they still work for everyone. At worst they are just like, things that suck that someone added because they lacked the self-control to simply admire the shiny red fire hydrant that is Dungeons & Dragons 5e and instead just had to piss on it to mark their miserable little territory. And I think people are reluctant to say “hey this house rule sucks” because it’s something someone created, but on the whole I think the majority of house rules suck and shouldn't have been created! And house rules you find on the internet usually SUCK MORE because you’re NOT EVEN IN THE HOUSE THEY WERE INTENDED FOR.

The exhaustion rule is also particularly stupid because I think the motivation is often said to be “realism” and it’s like, well, in real life people cannot cast Eldritch Blast, you fucking idiot, and not becoming exhausted by a little concussion from a troll's club is part and parcel of that same fantasy world.

One of the many really good things Brennan Lee Mulligan said recently on Adventuring Academy is that players learn the logic of the world from the DM. If every NPC attacks the party, suddenly the party will begin attacking first. If going unconscious grants exhaustion…well then why get in fights? Why not focus on assassination or deception for encounters? Why not fucking quit and become potato farmers? Why not take two nights rest after each fight, saying “well we know the world is ending tomorrow, but consider: we have a level of exhaustion because of YOUR FUCKING BULLSHIT”? Why not start stealing health potions, if this is the logic of the world you live in? Why not run away from encounters if your health is getting low - monsters do that all the time!

I think people forget that D&D is actually a relatively delicate balance, and this is looping back around to what I said about means testing. Like, have a mature talk with your DM like an adult and give them a chance to say "oh, that makes sense" because it could be that they are well-intentioned and merely inexperienced. But if they still cling to this rule after you tell them that it sucks, I am giving you carte blanche to engage in blisteringly malicious compliance in and out of game. Conspire with the rest of the party to all take the tough feat. Bully the magic shop owner for HP-boosting items. Generally become the living worst, because this house rule is AWFUL.

Anyway: tell your DM to rethink this, heal early and often, use buffs, and if your DM does not rethink having this as their house rule then burn down their house or at least rethink having them as your DM.

#answered #Anonymous #d&d mechanics #long post

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yomiurinikei · 2 years ago

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i’ve seen you mention utsuro not being a system a couple of times and, as somebody who is ALWAYS looking for more headcanons to add to the roster, may i ask why you headcanon this? /genq

oh, why i hc utsuro as a system?? sure sure!! i wrote aaaa… well. a write-up about this but that was forever ago,, funnily enough i think i had a longer/more in depth write up for hibiki being a system (it was p much my belief for what she had in game, her behavior was 100% consistent with did, but anywayyys…), but! i definitely can break down this hc, seeing as it has basis in canon as opposed to, say, my hilarious and amazing idea of what if each of the CoU were systems

(nows probably a good time to note, while i really don’t want to get into sysc0urse, i am. moreso anti-end0. i don’t want this post in those tags, but as someone who’s been in online system communities for 5+ years, i’ve visibly seen how conversations about systems have changed and the damage that’s been inflicted on systems. a lot of beliefs going around are incredibly damaging/help no one; as a result, this theory complies with a… for lack of a better term, traumagen1c reliant understanding of did)

so!! it’s shown to us in the epilogue of dra that utsuro. is extremely traumatized <333. it’s made clear that since he was small, his parents have been behaving in such a way that led to his feeling he was only valued for his fortune. his parents were greedy, cared about material gain; it’s literally said (translations are never one to one but meaning comes across) they “saw their child as a tool to satisfy their desires” and that because of their behaviors, utsuro wound up uncared for and alone.

id say. having your parents view you as a tool for their material benefit, to the degree you couldn’t stay at home anymore, and then having to be all alone and “figure out how to survive” by yourself fits as severe trauma- utsuros age isn’t specified here, but going by the timeline we see with akane, and assuming they’re the same age, he was likely by himself by early elementary-age. this definitely slots in/sets up for him developing did- he’d be young enough his personality was still developing/etc etc yk. things go on, they dont get better; he winds up entirely hopeless, getting everything he wants except for happiness. the degree of... misery it must bring to make the impossible possible, to have anything your mind desires, but never managing to feel happy must be. uniquely painful, and it was Always Like That.

so, since we've established he's got the trauma necessary to have to detach himself in that spicy did-way, let's look at why i think he specifically has did instead of.. any other condition originating from trauma

my main argument for utsuro being a system is the stark difference between yuki, and utsuro. when it comes to the memories that were repressed for the killing game, the most comprable situation to utsuro's is akane's. both were the masterminds, who chose to have their memories repressed, so they could participate freely in the game. ("nyehhh akane's a traitor though!!" you get the point.) So both akane and utsuro repressed their memories, and eventually, regain their memories. now, when akane gets back her memories, she has a new motive, new direction behind her choices, and of course, being driven by a new cause, has different priorities, and is willing to do what it takes to achieve them. she recalls her trauma, and is launched back into survival mode, into protecting whats kept her safe before: utsuros divine luck. she states her service to utsuro is because she's indebted to him, but.. this really serves to reiterate that utsuro is defined by his luck; keep utsuro safe, bring utsuro back, all so the divine luck will return. that's relevant later; for now, back to akane, who, despite now having her memories back, ultimately chooses hope. she's swayed by what happens in the game, by the memories she made.

utsuro gets his memories back. and utsuro is not swayed. akane with her memories repressed recalled, with some accuracy, her childhood. utsuro could not do this; he had an entirely falsified belief, was convinced his beliefs were not true despite them not being able to remember them properly. where akane was able to connect all of her assorted memories, and advance forward, there is an explicit difference between yuki and utsuro. yuki has an entirely different personality, has different memories, and as shown in the bad end, yuki is capable of rectifying his experiences with his past traumas (is able to choose hope at the end), while utsuro is latched onto the beliefs instilled in him from childhood, and rather than adapt to new experiences hes supposedly had (the hope he was shown by the cast), it is core to his identity to stay the way he was. yuki is a introject (specifically a factive) based off of yuuki maeda; he split off due to junko (who gave utsuro new purpose, allowing him to advance past his trauma induced belief that his situation was unchanging), to fulfill the role the body's brain believed they had to take to continue to have meaning. the trauma utsuro experienced at a young age resulted in him struggling with compartmentalizing, and upon splitting, the new alter in the system took on a specific mantle he was told he needed to define.

when you're faced with the choice that leads to the good or the bad ending, you, the player, yuki, are spoken to by another person; another consciousness, within your head. after they chat, yuki is shown a physical representation within his mind, choosing one or the other. a.... physical conceptualized place, wherein you can speak with other identities in your head, including the ability to influence which one is in control of the body. also known as a headspace, which systems have. its... its a textbook example of what a headspace can be like.

to put it all together. utsuro was heavily traumatized as a kid, this trauma never ended, it was constantly reinforced that he only had value because of his luck, leading to him being 100% detached from the world (the ‘utsuros story’ snippet further reinforces my belief that utsuros behaviors, his extreme apathy, feels like dissociation). he develops did, which we see in-game; yuki is a alter split off to serve junkos goals, and doesn’t remember the divine luck, at least, at the point of the killing game (we could say that’s what the memory altering did to him). he gets his memories back, and we see him in headspace, in the true ending, giving front to utsuro. as utsuro hasn’t been in front, and was split off to survive with the trauma of the divine luck, he’s not impacted by the events of the game, and sticks with the mindset thats got him to where he is today, before loosing even that internal will to survive, and dying in the dra killing game

really. it’s just that it fits with what we know of his backstory, and the difference between utsuro and yuki, and how things happen with them compared to with akane, makes me think did/system! chatted with fellow “utsuro is part of a system” enthusiast sorrel of @monorails fame, sea helped me tons with organizing my thoughts and all that jazz!!!!

maybe i should bring back my akane analysis. maybe i should finally break down her vibe with utsuro. hm. anyways! this was a long post and my thoughts jump around a lot so if anything’s too scattered/doesn’t make sense, just send me an ask!!! at the end of the day it is all fun and games and i like to talk so. feel free to come chat!

#dra #sdra2 #utsuro #next up: how divine luck comes at the price of otherwise ceasing to exist /hj #analysis

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sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe · 2 years ago

Text

vacuum trivia;

the average emotional density of a black hole

art has no defined shapes

there is no rule book, no curriculum, no diagnostic manual

everything’s art; the way the sun burns skin through the sieve of a stained glass window

the way fingerprints throb after hair dye and guitar strings have just spent the better part of an hour trying to destroy them

the way your heart drops to see a sliver of recognition from the other side of a camera

to see someone walk around with all the glamour of your lost friendships and best mistakes,

and think, ‘oh hey, hello! i remember you. i boxed you out of my personalty years ago, where’ve you been, how’s life?’

art can’t die, as long as it’s been witnessed

it can be destroyed, forgotten, molded into a skin sack of lost potential and left to rot, but it can’t die.

even if the only person to ever know it existed is the one who introduced and summarily parted it from existence, it’s still alive

maybe it was an embarrassment to your craft, maybe it was bland and a waste of thirty minutes, but it was thirty minutes.

if tulips bloom for a day and get eaten by deer before the next morning,

the colors were still there. destruction does not invalidate past interaction.

art lives, unto itself, in a vacuum

it cannot be created in one, it cannot be consumed without noise getting added

but a scribble, a stained canvas, a novel, a life’s work, has no opinions of its own

it has the opinions of its owner, it’s creator, muse, god and executioner

the knowledge accumulated by the sheer luck of being alive pressed against it by anyone who chooses to walk past and put their face on the glass, but the piece itself

it’s just words. it’s just thoughts, concept, schrödinger’s masterpiece

is it art if no-one can find it?

is it art if it’s been broken up, between floorboards and daisy fields

and the whiskey ring mocking an ex-alcoholic from the bottom of a grinning shot glass?

can i call this art, if I hide it in the middle drawer of a motel room and sway home with the acrid smell of gasoline caked under my fingers?

i am so constantly afraid of fucking up that i’ve cordoned off my ability to breathe without pressure

my fear strangles out hubris nine days out of ten, and i’m not unconvinced it uses the days off to simmer in some fresh dread, ripe from the cherry tree, and picked out special

art is subjective, and mutating, and has the capacity to grow so much further than its host ever intended

and my ribcage knots itself together under the acknowledgement that my career is one day going to hurt someone other than me

i am flexible, i trust my ego to string itself up by the last vestiges of spite to carry me home

but the idea, the statistical certainty that my greatest joy will cause pain, and harm, completely without intent, steals breath from my lungs

does the art have value if it hurts without aim?

malice is all well and good, but pain without worth, to brandish hot pokers with such little care as to burn those merely bystanding

better then, to recoil from my skill, to abandon these principals

to create without vision, cash in on a piece of white bread, hold the calories

sell air the scent of lukewarm wax and never see blood spilled again

or topple a stand of candles into a bonfire and pray you’ve taught yourself enough restraint to put the dancing flames out, eventually

the answer, of course, is care.

is moderation, look both ways before crossing the street, double check yourself constantly

not for malice, but for mines you may have forgotten behind trees with crooked limbs

accept criticism not without defense, but without passion, that poison, lacing your tongue

look before you leap into that tar pit of confirmation biases

there’s an echo chamber right before you reach the hall of mirrors

be willing to bleed your palms into stinging concrete and agonizing recognition

and you’ll be fine, kid.

breathe out, breathe in, and just…

try not to choke on your sense of self-control when that finally makes a run for it

it’ll circle back around, eventually.

when’s the decline of civilization as we know it scheduled for, again?

#writers on tumblr #writblr #spilled ink #impostor syndrome #but honestly more the fear of wide swinging venom and poor eyesight #turns out you can just say words and god can't stop you #i don't know i still don't really have words for this #but i don't hate this piece. it itches at me #but there's some panache in here i'm fond of

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urstruly-ghst · 2 years ago

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Could i get headcanons of ace and deuce fighting over their same crush? It can be poly if you want :)

note : its open ended on each hc! so it'll be your interpretation if it's purely separate or poly :>

ace trappola

Used to getting things he wanted, Ace didn’t like the idea of sharing. Although he can still be a bit kinder to others, specifically you, he still hated sharing. The youngest of his family, Ace, was someone who got a lot of things immediately.

Likewise, this does extend to other things. Success? He liked the solo success, but you can bask in it. Just have 10% of it. Pie? A crust with little cherry filling, take it or leave it. Cheeky and a bit inconsiderate, Ace always was this pain when it came to sharing, So it shouldn’t surprise anyone he was vehemently possessive over you.

Back to you, Ace was stubborn to let anyone like you too. While he adores the fact you get the recognition and care you deserve, he hates the fact someone sees you in the same way he, Ace, does. He didn't take it well and probably became more brash and annoying. This applied to everyone, but he was harsher with Deuce, who he could push the right buttons to get on his nerves.

Chores? All somehow on Deuce’s list. His favorite food? Ace gave it to someone else. His time with you? Uh-oh! The dorm leader or a senior is calling him. However, that charade won’t last as long as he would like. Ace gets roped into trouble too…

Overall, the whole thing for Ace is his sly nature to monopolize you alone. He adores you and wishes his efforts would make you realize he can be loyal to a fault—that and how he can be a tough nut to crack. You would notice it. Eventually, you forced him and Deuce to sit with you. What happens next makes Ace hold his breath…

“I get it, and I was a biiiit rude to Deuce. Okay, I was super rude to him. Yes, I did that. I just wanted your attention, okay?! Ugh, this is why feelings are weird. Also, what’s up with this guy sitting with us?! Don’t tell me I have to apologize! Wait… Is this?”

deuce spade

Deuce was different from Ace and was more open to sharing with people. He was his opposite yet his mirror at the same time. While he can stand sharing and isn’t a hogger like Ace, he has a possessive streak in his thoughts. Though, it is different from Ace’s possessiveness.

Like Ace, he would distance others from you, but he deviates from Ace, except he isolates time for a limited slot. He lets you go to do whatever, but he would be selfish to steal some time from you. He shares you openly because he thinks asking for too much of you would be weird.

Though he was this “kinder” version, he was still mean. He’d bully Ace sometimes, like crushing him underneath his cauldron, purposely forgetting to tell him he has last-minute scheduled duties, somehow letting Riddle collar him, and even going as far as making him run around the P.E field.

It was his own petty fight, and he rarely brought out his fists to fight with Ace. However, he puts his foot down when Ace lets his selfishness be the better of his already lousy image. That means Deuce can see Ace already imagining you two being married.

In the end, he was swayed by your lovely reasoning: talk it out with his rival. Deuce likes the fair game and would always be willing to make things right. So, when you offered to let him sit down with Ace, you in the middle to mediate, he accepted quickly. And during that event, you said something that made him agape, a breath escaping him without ever returning.

“Shut up, Ace! I am doing this for them, not you. Also, can’t you appreciate their efforts to sit us down?! Ugh. Also, didn’t you– Ah, right, sorry, sorry. I will be civil, Prefect! Sigh, you’re really something to us… Ugh! Ace! Move it. You’re in my space!”

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #ace trappola #twst ace #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade #twst deuce #deuce spade x reader

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catras-witchy-girlfriend · 3 years ago

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"You Love Me"|

Catra x Reader| Nsft

Content Warning: Smut, F4F, slight breast play, self deprecation, hurt/comfort, mentions of Shadow Weaver's abuse, cursing, talk of physical/emotional abuse, implied first time, comfort sex, nsfw, slight degradation, top/bottom, overstimulation, -please tell me if I missed something-

"Catra?" You asked out to her private, empty dorm. You scanned her room with a quick glance, and found no trace of the beautiful women you were seeking. However, just before you were about to head out to look elsewhere, you heard quiet sobs from inside her dorm's small bathroom.

You crossed the room as quickly and quietly as possible, though you were almost certain that she would still hear you.

You knocked softly at the bathroom door, but it swung open on its own to revel your partner looking absolutely forlorn. Catra tried to avert her gaze, but her body language gave her away. She was hunched over the sink, her hands to her face, and her red mask forgotten on the floor.

"Kitten, are you-" You stopped. It was obvious she wasn't okay, and knowing Catra, if you asked her that she would only lie. "-is there anything I can do?"

"N-no." Her voice tried to hold it's typical silvery, commanding voice, but fell flat as the words came out more like a croak.

You could tell by the way she wrapped her tail around herself and closed in more that she felt embarrassed.

"Just leave..." She whispered so quietly you almost couldn't hear it, and perhaps, she was hoping you wouldn't.

Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, you brought your hand to the bathroom door before turning and saying, "You don't have to hide yourself from me, kitten. I love you, every single part of you, even when you're messy, even when you're sad, or angry, I love it all, kitten."

Just as you were about to turn around to leave, her cracked voice asked, "Do you really mean that?"

You offered her a loving smile, "Every word."

And just like that, the facade fell apart. Catra allowed her hands to fall from her face, and her red puffy eyes to meet yours. You gasp and strode over to her, and gently wiped away the tears running down her face.

"What happened, my love?"

Her face scrunched in a confused mix of sadness and anger. "Shadow Weaver! She...she left me...for Adora again! It's always Adora!"

Then as quick as the anger came, like even the wildest of storms, it too parted ways. "Am I just that worthless to her? Am I just that... unlovable?"

"Stop it, kitten." You replied sternly, taking her face in your hands to have her look at you. "You are brilliant, and sure as fuck not unlovable. It's Shadow Weaver, that women has no idea how to love! All she knows is how to use people, that's all you and Adora are to her, your puppets on her string."

You moved closer to her, your mind racing as it wracked itself trying to find some way to make Catra feel better, and understand the deep, and eternal love you had for her, "You're not worthless, kitten, not in the slightest. You just are incapable of controlling, you're too strong willed, and too stubborn to make into a puppet. That's why she always picks Adora, because it's so much easier to control someone like her who doesn't know any better."

She shook her head, pulled you into her, and nuzzled her face in between your neck. You closed your eyes, swaying the both of you as you brought your hand to her thick hair to comb through.

"Logically, I know you're right," You felt her claws dig lightly into the back of your clothes, surly unknowingly leaving more holes. "but I can't shake this feeling that everything she's ever said about me, about being useless, worthless, a mistake, a screw up, and unlovable, that it's all true."

"I can't stand this..." You breathed out as you looked to the browning ceiling.

When you looked back at her, your eyes held an obvious sadness, but also a fire and passion that refused to be burned away. "Sometimes...sometimes I feel like you can't really see me, or that you are simply counting down the days until I abandon you, well it's never going to happen, kitten."

"That's not true, princess."

"I know...I know...Shadow Weaver...she broke your heart, kitten, but it's nothing that can't be fixed. But by giving your heart to people like Adora, Hordak and Shadow Weaver, expecting one day they're going to show up and put you back together again...it's never going to work."

You rocked slightly on your feet, your own tears now brimming your eyelids. "Can't you see it, kitten? Scorpia, adores you! You're her best friend and she always wants nothing but the best for you. Entrapta loves to mess with you, and play with you, but she does it out of love because she loves to see you teasing back. And me..."

Finally the tears slipped by, and though your first instinct was to wipe them away, instead you grabbed Cat's hand and placed it gently on your cheek as you nuzzled into her, "Can't you feel it, Catra? You set me on fire." You laughed. "You make me feel alive. Before I switched to your unit, my only ambition was to make it to the next day, but with you? I want you, I want your love, and your trust, and I want to show you everyday how much I love you, and that...well that might be the most ambitious thing of all, isn't it?"

She stayed silent for a moment. Her eyes darting between yours as if searching desperately for any sign of a lie that she would never find. Then, her gaze fell to her hand on your face, the redness of your cheeks and nose from crying, and the soft pout on your lips.

With her free hand she lightly stroked your bottom lip with her thumb, tilted her head, and allowed a soft smile to grace her features. "So ambitious...thinking you can teach me how to love again."

You shook your head, and moved so close to her that you could feel the warmth radiating off her, "I don't need to show you how to love, kitten, you already know how to do that, I just want to be able to show you how much I love you."

A few moments passed before Catra kissed the corner of your mouth before whispering with a mischievous smirk, "Then what are you waiting for? Show me."

Though at first slightly taken back, you wouldn't waste even a moment to take advantage of this opportunity. You wrapped your arms around the nape of her neck and pulled her into your lips.

Though slightly rough, you relished in the process of kissing the girl of your dreams. You took a hand and began to comb through her large mane mindlessly.

Barley able to think at all, you both just let your bodies do most of the talking. She was flushed against you, her chest heavily pressed against yours.

You sighed helplessly into the kiss, and gently ran your fingers to the crop of her bust. "Can I take this off, kitten?"

Her eyes went wide, had Catra ever experienced something like this? With how gorgeous, talented, and confident she was, you always assumed she would have women falling over to be with her, you thought.

"Take yours off first?" Catra mumbled shylily before quickly adding, "I'm not nervous or anything, I just thought you might want to-"

"I would love to, kitten." So you pulled her to you as you backed against the wall, then quickly pulled off your top. "Do you feel comfortable taking yours off..."

Suddenly, your eyes burned in a way Catra had never seen, as a mischievous smile crossed your features. "Or are you going to have me strip down to nothing before I get to see your perfect body?"

Her eyes went wide, in a way you felt like a completely different person, or perhaps you just finally felt safe being so vulnerable with someone.

Catra cleared her throat, bringing her hands to the back of her corset and letting it slip off her body. Before she even got the cropped black jacket off she noticed how your eyes widened, the mischief from before disappearing completely as it was quickly replaced with want.

Soon the jacket was off too, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride looking at you. A small whimper escaping your mouth, your hands pressed firmly against the wall as though you were trying to force yourself not to touch her, and your legs noticably squirming.

Catra laughed, putting her hand against your head as she leaned on the wall. You mentally cursed yourself as there was a moment when you couldn't bring your eyes away from her chest. Her copper skin spotted in dozens upon dozens of freckles, large milky scars lining her arms from where Shadow Weaver electrocuted her, and small tuffs of fur-like hair on her chest and down her stomach.

Catra pulled your eyes to meet hers and your face flushed a deep red as though you were just caught stealing from a candy store. "Eyes up here, princess."

Something about the way she said that made you shiver. Your pupils expanding at the sight of her, like she was the only light in a infinite darkness.

You nearly melted completely under her before you remembered why you were in the potision you were in, "No." You told her sternly as you quickly flipped you two so you know had her pinned against the wall.

You brought your lips to the base of her ear, which twitched at the feeling of your warm breath against them. "That's a bad kitty, getting me all worked up, but this isn't for me. This is for you," You used your nose to signal her to tilt her head up and started kissing her neck and let your free hand trace her features from down her raised arms, across her collar bone and down the valley of her breast. "This is all for you. You said you wanted me to show you how much I love you, do you still want that, kitten? Do you want me to show you?"

You gasped and giggled as the mere idea made her lean her head back and her chest begin to rumble with purrs.

You went back to kissing and sucking her neck, Catra lightly struggling against your hold, but you weren't worried. You knew she was enjoying this, because in truth, if Catra didn't want you touching her like this she would easily, quickly, and brutally remind you of your manners.

Still, you couldn't help but tease her by tracing the definitions of her breast without ever touching them. "You didn't answer me, kitten, I'm not gonna touch you unless you tell me you want it."

A strange mix of a whine and growl eurrepted out her mouth, "I hate you."

You laughed almost sinisterly, the power trip admittedly getting to your head. "Aww, you could never hate me...I make you feel too good for that~"

She moaned as she once again struggling against your gasp, this time getting her hands about 2 inches from the wall before she whined loudly as she let her arms fall back.

"Touch me," she cried, making you smile. "please..."

"Damn it," you groaned as you kissed her lips again, and finally brought your hands to her soft breast. "I would've loved to keep teasing you, but," you bit her bottom lip slightly, letting the hand that was keeping her pinned fall to feel up her backside. "youve got me wrapped around your finger."

You continued to kiss her roughly as your hands massaged her chest. Your body felt as though it was on fire, the need and want making you two moan into each other's mouths.

After a few more moments you whined and pulled away. "Fuck, I can't do this, I'm taking these off."

You quickly undid your pants and tossed them to the side, but much to your dismay, Catra used the moment of weakness to scoop you up and plop you on her bed, and quickly climb over you. Catra once again began to kiss you roughly before she ran her coarse tounge down your neck making you cry out and arch your back as she moved to give you open mouth kisses and biting the marks lightly between her fangs.

You moved your hands down to her ass, squeezing her harshly. "No, no, no! I'm~ ah~ I'm s-suposed to be making you~you feel like this~!"

You swear as you could feel the burning feeling travel down between your legs. She laughed evilly at the helpless look on your face, "Sorry, princess, but we both knew you werent gonna be on top for long."

Your chest rose and fell like waves crashing to the shore, before you had an idea to get back what you wanted. "Okay, okay, kitten you can be on top, but can I~" You pulled lightly at her red shorts. "please, kitten~ I wanna see you, all of you~ please? I promise, I'll be good."

Catra chuckled and dragged her claws gently up your jaw, "Well...I would usually make you beg for me~" You whined as your complaint. "~but you looked so hot thinking you can control me like that. So I suppose there's no harm in seeing your prize."

Without a second thought, you watched Catra slowly strip herself of her shorts, underwear and black stockings. With herself completely bare in front of you, she spread her arms with an adorable prideful smile, "Happy?"

You smiled and innocently pulled her down to your lips, gave her a soft kiss and ran your hands through her hair as she kissed you.

"Very~" With that you slipped your knee in-between her thighs and pulled her hair back. A roaring mewl rumbling through her in her shock. You moved slightly beneath her, her slick dripping down your knee. "Aww, kitty, you're so wet~"

"F-fuck you."

You laughed, "Not right now, kitten, I'm going to show you how much I love you~" You began to rock yourself under her, making her cry and begin grinding down on your leg to keep up the friction. "~Im going to make you feel it so deeply, that you never ever doubt it again. Please, let me do that for you, can I do that for you?"

Though it was clear by her face she was frustrated that you had gotten the best of her, the redness of her cheeks, and the way her eyes were screwed shut showed that she now wanted something more than bragging rights.

She nodded with a small whimper and a barley audible, "please."

You smiled gratefully and stopped your movements.

"W-what are you-!" Catra began to hiss at the lack of friction before you used her arm to pull her higher up your body until her pussy was almost in your face.

"You wanted to be on top? You wanted to be in control? Then pull my hair and ride me, kitten."

For a moment you watched as she looked down on you from above, her chest heaving. The sight of her core so close to you, and her breast above you was almost enough to make you cum on the spot.

"All right, princess, you want me to ride you?" She fully brought herself up to you, so you could just see her pussy in all it's beautiful glory. Soaked, red, and begging to be fucked raw. "Then take it."

You didn't need to be told twice. You brought her down on your tounge by her thighs, and she quickly grabbed onto the base of your hair.

You moaned as the length of your tounge teased her tight hole. Her slick coating you as you continued to lap it up.

From above you Catra ground into your face, both of your moans and cries mixing together in a passionate harmony. You slowly inserted you tounge into her, making you both cry out, the vibrations of your moan going straight to her core making Catra shout and ride you faster.

You brought your free hand to her clit, rubbing it in circles with the pad of your thumb.

"Oh f-fuck! Don't stop, please!" You happily listened to her pleas. "So good, so good! Ah~"

It was a rare and special sight to see the infamous Catra so vulnerable, needy, and desperate. You weren't going to take this trust for granted.

You hummed into her pussy as you relished in the oddly sweet taste of her, and the sounds of wetness that echoed in your ears. You couldn't help but cry, and moan into her, which only brought her closer to the edge.

But it was only when your body was no longer able to keep still did the two of you notice how close you were as well.

Between gasps, Catra said as she tried to sit up, "Here, let me turn around so I can help you~"

You whined in disagreement and pulled her back down, telling her between greedy mouthfuls, "No, too good, I'll wait. Don't move, just-oh fuck- just just come for me, please I need you!"

Though she wanted to, she couldn't muster up the clearlity of thought to argue with you, so she wrapped both her hands in your hair and pulled making you boarderline scream from the pleasure and need that was coarsing through your veins.

But you didn't care, you had tunnel vision, and all you could think of was her pleasure. Catra was all that mattered to you in that moment. She began to clench around you as she quickly began to reach her edge. Both of your cries echoing around the room.

"I fucking love you," you groaned. "I love you so much, and your not gonna cum until you- you- fuck~!" Your back arched your own rope coming to an end. "Tell me you know it, tell me you know I love you."

Catra groaned, lightly upset that you were using her pleasure to trick her into self love. "I know, now don't stop."

You slowed your movements down a little and smacked her ass with your free hand, "You know what, kitty?"

Her body virbated with mewls and moans, "Please, just let me come...go faster, faster!"

You smacked her again, making her moan, "Not until you tell me that you know I love you."

There was a moment where she let out a string of curse words before, "F-fine! You-you love me! I know it- oh gods I know you love me~"

Satisfied you began to go faster again, both of you chasing after her realease. "Good girl, say it again."

"Damn it, just-!" She continued to pant and moan. "I know! I know! You love me! You love me so fucking much, I know you do! I know you do! Now fucking prove it! Prove you love me, now!"

Too overwhelmed to ask for anymore, you moaned as you delved your tounge into her and curled it to reach her g-spot. You rubbed her clit between your thumb, and sucked and lapped up every bit of pre-cum.

That was until she began to let out short loud and silent screams, and her legs began to shake. You opened wide and did you best to take every bit of her cum in your mouth. Though as you felt her clench her legs around your head you couldn't help as your back arched and your own cum squirted on the sheets.

Both you and Catra seemed to callaspe in exhaustion, but you still helped Catra off of you, when she suddenly began to laugh.

"Oh princess, did you cum for me?" Your face flushed a deep red as she continued to laugh. "Aww, I didn't even get to touch you..."

Your core throbbed as you saw Catra retract her claws and slowly drag her fingers up your thighs to your pussy. She watched your eyes roll back as she coated her fingers in your slick and then pull out. She opened and closed them curiously before licking them with a "hmn."

Then she laughed again, "Aww princess, I'm heartbroken, you taste so fucking good, but you only let us focus on me."

"CatRA~!" you moaned as she began to tease your hole and clit with her fingers.

"What?" She asked innocently. "You got what you wanted, now it's my turn."

She continued to finger you gently, knowing you would be pretty sensitive, while you moan out for her helplessly.

It didn't take long for you to get close to a second climax, "Please, kitten, I'm so close~!"

"Awww, you're close, princess~?" She faked sympathy as she laid on her side next to you and whispered hotly into your ear with a proud, mischievous smile, "I love you so much, princess, and you're not gonna cum until you tell me you know it~"

#catras witchy girlfriend #spop catra #shera and the princesses of power #catra x reader #catra x reader lemon #lesbian nsft #nsft post #nsft #catra #catra nsft #spop #spop imagine #spop nsft #no Yandere or non-con #the "You Love Me #will make sense as you read #but its not meant to be aggressive or possessive

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lady-literature · 4 years ago

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Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form.

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet…

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion.

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time). She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day.

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

#maribatmarch2021 #maribat #mlb x dc #jasonette #my typewriter #platonic dickinette #platonic timari

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Toxic Taste

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] It's a perfect day for a picnic with your friends. Well, it seems like one until you suddenly fall very ill.

Warnings: very minor cursing

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: this was requested by @amintyworld! everyone just loves protective dream, don’t they? i had fun exploring this concept, and i hope you enjoy!

You hummed, fixing your hair in the mirror before giving yourself one last once over, nodding to yourself. Looks good. Just then, you heard the door swing open behind you, creaking with a quiet groan. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey, are you ready to go?”

Whirling around, your hand quickly grabbed the woven basket on the table beside you as you flashed Clay a bright grin, bounding over to his side with a skip in your step. “I am, now.”

Without having to say another word, he lifted his arm toward you, and you looped yours through his, your fingers tightening around the basket handle. The two of you stepped outside together, locking the door behind you before making your way down the oak path. Above you, only a few clouds dotted the cerulean blue sky, drifting along the gentle spring breeze.

It really was a perfect day for a picnic.

Turning, you cast a curious glance over at Clay. “Are you excited to see what everyone brought?”

He bobbed his head, his lips quirking up into a wicked grin. “Yeah—I can’t wait to make fun of whatever George made.”

You frowned, shooting him an unimpressed look. “George is a good chef in his own right,” you chided.

His smile widened, reaching over to gently tap your nose. “Yeah, but you’re the best.” He patted your basket cover, his viridian gaze swirling with mirth. “They’re gonna love your cookies.”

You rolled your eyes at him, snorting, but he didn’t miss the way your lips twitched. “You just say that because you’re my boyfriend.”

He hummed. “Just because I’m biased doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

You raised your brows at him. “Oh? So you admit that you’re biased?”

Leaning over, he brushed his lips against yours in a peck, pulling back with a dazzling grin. “Of course,” he murmured in that soft tone that made your cheeks grow hot, “without a doubt.”

You swallowed, trying to calm your frantically beating heart. “You’re so cheesy,” you said, adopting a passive tone, “no more dilly-dallying, now. We have a picnic to get to.”

He sent you a crooked smile. “Okay, okay.” His eyes flashed. “I’ll race you.”

“Huh, wh—?”

Before you could even process what was happening, he had suddenly bolted, his arm leaving yours. Almost immediately, your body yearned for the warmth of his pressed against yours, and you found yourself stumbling after him.

“Wait, Clay!” you called after him, your basket bouncing beside you as you watched him crest over the grassy hill. “That’s not fair! Get back here!”

He only turned to shoot you a goofy grin, laughter bubbling on his lips as he disappeared from view, his hoodie fading to nothing more than a tiny speck of green among the swaying blades of grass. You couldn’t stop the laughter from spilling from your lips, bursting from your chest like fireworks.

“You are so dead when I catch up to you!”

He called back over the horizon. “If you ever!”

Your grin only grew wider.

Oh, he was so dead.

“Your bread sucks.”

You gasped, lightly smacking Clay’s chest. “Clay!” Whipping around, you sent George an earnest grin. “George, I think your bread is wonderful.”

Beside you, Tommy made a face, setting his slice down on his plate with a disgusted glance. “Nah, I agree with Big D. This bread is pretty shit.”

Now, it was Wilbur’s turn to gasp. “Tommy!”

Tommy’s brows knit together as he scowled. “What? I’m just telling the truth.”

George let out a long groan, his glasses threatening to slide off the crown of his head as he hung his face in his hands. “I am never baking, again.”

In an instant, Niki was on her feet, flailing her arms. “No, no, no! Don’t say that—baking can be a lot of fun!” She paused for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “I can teach you a new sourdough recipe, if you’d like!”

George lifted his head, blinking at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “You would?”

She nodded, a bright smile tugging at her lips. “Of course!”

Sapnap snorted, taking another bite of steak. “I can’t believe you have to learn from someone else how to make good bread.”

George groaned again, glowering at his supposed best friend. “Why is everyone ganging up on me, today?”

Clay was quick to butt in. “Haven’t you heard? It’s National Be Mean to George Day.”

Tubbo blinked, confusion clouding his features. “That’s not a real holi—” He paused, then gasped. “Oh, wait.” He grinned. “Never mind.”

George’s glare only intensified, and he sighed. “Niki, forget it.”

While Niki practically shriveled into a puddle, Wilbur spoke up, offering him a reassuring smile. “Well, I think your bread is delicious, George. Genuinely.”

George flashed him a thankful grin, adjusting the glasses on his head. “Thank you, Wilbur.”

Letting out another laugh, you leaned back against Clay’s side, his arm firmly wrapped around your waist as you snuggled against him. Your friends were always up to weird antics, and while you didn’t necessarily agree with their actions, you were willing to indulge in them, if only to see what would happen next. In front of you, you gingerly picked up the half-eaten fish skewer from your plate, lifting it to your lips as you took another bite. It was sweet, and vaguely tasted like saltwater, but you liked it. It was unique, in its own weird way.

You watched as Clay reached across the patterned blanket for the plate of cookies you had brought, gingerly picking one up. Glancing up at him, you opened your mouth. “Do you actually think George’s bread is bad?” you asked softly. “Or are you just trying to rile him up?”

He paused, the cookie halfway to his mouth, then shrugged, biting in. “It’s a bit of both. It isn’t half-bad, I guess.” He shot you a cheeky wink. “Yours is still better, though.”

You groaned, feeling your face grow warm. “Stop that.”

He tilted his head at you, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he chewed. “Stop what?” he said, leaning in close to you. “Being honest?”

You did your best to send him a glare, but you knew it was half-hearted at best. “Yes.”

His grin widened, his eyes glimmering with affectionate arrogance. “Never.”

As his eyes locked onto yours, you felt your glare melt away. With a small hum, he dipped his head to yours, pressing his mouth to yours with a smile. His tongue lapped at your lips, and you grinned back. He tasted like chocolate chips and sunshine. You pulled back with a quiet gasp, your cheeks burned with heat as his emerald eyes bore into yours, crinkling at the corners.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispered for you and you alone.

Your heart swelled. “I love you, too.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, then pressed his forehead against yours, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Also,” he added, “you taste like fish.”

You sent him a horrified look before smacking his arm again, your heart flipping as he wheezed at your reaction. “S-Shut up!”

He only wheezed harder in response, and despite your embarrassment, you felt a smile tugging on your lips. That was the thing about Clay that got you every time—as much as he would tease you and make your heart go wild in your chest, you knew he meant every single thing he told you. He was just so sincere like that, and it made you want to sink straight into him.

God, you were so, so in love.

Just then, a howl pulled you away from your attack on Clay. You turned to see Quackity, his mouth agape as he pointed at Niki, a bewildered look plastered to her face. “Niki!” he screamed. “You brought cake?”

She blinked, stunned for only a moment before she smiled, nodding. “Yeah! It’s homemade and has vanilla frosting.”

Quackity immediately sank down to one knee, one hand outstretched toward her as he said dramatically, “Marry me.”

Niki’s smile didn’t falter for even a second. “No thanks.”

Quackity’s arm dropped, and he let out a whine. “Damn, you didn’t have to say it so quickly.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he sat down with a pout. “You could have at least pretended to think about it.”

You all burst into laughter, giggling as Niki simply set her cake down on the blanket next to George’s bread. Wilbur had brought three watermelons—how he carted them over by himself, you had no idea—while Tommy brought pork chops. Tubbo had also caught fish for the occasion while Sapnap packed steak. Meanwhile, Quackity had carried a sack of apples over to the picnic, but you had a feeling he may or may not have stolen them, since he didn’t exactly own an apple orchard of his own.

You opened your mouth to ask for a slice of Niki’s cake when you suddenly froze, a bolt of what felt like lightning tingling up your spine. Your head spun, and you could have sworn your vision darkened at the edges. An uneasy pit grew in your stomach, and you frowned. Why do I feel so... strange?

Pushing yourself forward slightly, you tried to sit up straight, only to feel your arms wobble before you crashed back into Clay’s side once more. In a flash, his arms were around you, holding you steady as his green eyes peered down at yours.

“Hey,” he said, his tone growing serious, “are you okay?” He wrinkled his brow. “You look a little off.”

You blinked, feeling your stomach churn with uneasiness. “I’m, um—I feel kind of sick.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Clay was on his feet, stretching his arm out to you. “Here, let me help you up.”

You slipped your hand into his, doing your best to hang on tight as he tugged you upward. You expected to simply stand on your own two feet just as you would in any other situation, but the moment you were up, you suddenly felt your knees buckle beneath you, your legs going numb. You gasped as your feet went flying out under you, your fingers digging onto Clay’s palm.

“Clay—!”

With a whirl, his arms held you to his chest, your sides shaking. A rush of anxiety rolled through you, and you looked down, desperately trying to move your foot, only to find that you couldn’t. It remained as still as a rock, and you wanted to cry.

“[Y/N],” Clay breathed, his hand on your face as he supported your weight with his other arm, “what’s wrong?” His eyes desperately searched yours for any clue as to what was happening, but all you could manage was a broken, choked whisper.

“Clay, I—” You swallowed, your hands trembling around his arm while something stung at the back of your eyes. “I can’t move my legs.”

He froze, his voice dropping to a deadly low whisper. “You what?”

You shook your head, hanging onto him for dear life. The spinning had gotten worse now, and you felt sicker and sicker by the second. “I-I don’t know, I don’t feel good and something’s wrong and—Clay,” you breathed, tears welling up in your eyes, “I’m scared.” Your heart pounded in your chest, but for all the wrong reasons. “Am I going to die?”

His gaze hardened, filling with determination as his hold around you tightened. “No,” he said without even an inkling of doubt, “you’re not.”

Before you could react, he suddenly swung one arm beneath your numb legs, easily hoisting you up so that you were carefully pressed against his chest. You gasped as your friends’ eyes landed on you, their faces full of worry as your head lolled against Clay’s shoulder.

“Everyone,” he said, his voice booming across the field, “there’s something wrong with the food.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t eat it.”

He turned his head, dipping his head toward George as he said, “George, I need you to get me as many regeneration potions and golden apples as you can, ASAP.”

George was on his feet as fast as he could, already turning on his heel. “I’m on it,” he shouted as he took off, already booking it down the hill.

Finally, Tubbo spoke up, asking the one question that had been on everyone’s mind. “Dream, what’s going on?”

Clay’s eyes darkened, and you could just barely feel his hands tighten around you while your vision swam.

“[Y/N]’s been poisoned.”

Wilbur gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god.”

Sapnap whipped his head around, gazing at the once serene picnic blanket with sheer terror. “What the fu—”

Suddenly, your hand shot up to grip Clay’s collar, his eyes immediately darting to yours. You gasped, your head absolutely throbbing as your heart rammed against your rib cage all too quickly. You opened your mouth, your spit tasting like salt and ash.

“Clay, I—”

The words died in your mouth as the world went dark, enveloping you in cold darkness.

You awoke with a start, bolting upright as you gasped, the cool air flooding your aching lungs. Immediately, you felt your stomach churn in retaliation, and your skull practically screamed at you to lie back down again. Slamming a hand over your eye, you felt the spinning of your head slowly fade away. Disoriented and dizzy, the blurriness of your vision began to lift as you blinked, taking in the sight of the room around you.

You didn’t recognize the windowsill at your side or the mattress you were lying on. The closed door stared back at you as your gaze swept over it, almost as if it knew you were confused. Not even the sheets looked familiar.

Where... am I?

You swallowed, something sharp and uneasy prickling up your spine.

What happened?

Your eyelids fluttered shut, and you tried to recall the events that had led you up to this moment.

You remembered... cookies. And a picnic. Clay’s hand in yours. There was food, and laughter. Then suddenly, you were queasy. Sick. Something wasn’t right. Then... nothing.

You blanched. Did I pass out?

Just then, you heard the door click, the hinges swinging open with a creak. Your eyes flew open and your breath hitched in your throat, and you turned, your fingers curling tighter into the sheets. Your eyes went wide as Clay walked in, one hand on the handle and the other holding an apple. The moment his eyes met yours, he froze.

“Clay?” you whispered, your voice sounding hoarse.

The apple dropped to the ground.

In an instant, he was in front of you with his hands on your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. His emerald eyes bore straight into yours with an intensity that sent your heart reeling. The words flew from his mouth in a flurry, his gaze never leaving yours.

“How are you feeling? Can you hear me? Is everything feeling alrig—”

“Woah, woah,” you said, waving your hand to cue him to stop, “what happened?”

His fingers trembled against your cheeks, and you could have sworn his eyes flashed with something wet. “[Y/N], oh, I’m—” He swallowed, his neck bobbing as he sent you a grateful smile. “I’m just so glad that you’re here.”

His hands pulled away from your face as he stood upright once more, heading for the open door. “Here, I’ll be back in a second.”

You raised your hand toward him, opening your mouth to say something, but he was already gone, having disappeared down the hall in a flash. Blinking, you sat stunned and even more confused than before, left only to wait and hope for an explanation once he returned.

Hardly even two minutes passed before you heard the rumbling of footsteps racing toward the open door. You squeaked when a series of faces filled the room, their cheeks red and chests heaving as they caught their breath. Clay immediately shuffled back to your side, slipping into the space on the bed next to you before grabbing your hand, squeezing.

“[Y/N]!” Niki cried, her eyes filled with panic. “Are you okay?”

Beside her, Tubbo’s hands shook at his side. “We only just heard from Dream that you were awake.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, your mind still hazy with everything that had just happened. Struggling to come up with an answer, you found yourself blurting the first words that came to mind. “How long has it been?”

You saw George shoot Sapnap a look, shrugging his shoulders before glancing back at you. “Uh, like, half a day.”

You shot forward, gaping. “Half a day?!”

Tommy flashed you a bright grin, leaning against Tubbo’s shoulder with a teasing look. “Yeah, you should have seen Dream run around! He spoon fed you regeneration potions and probably even read three whole fuckin’ libraries’ worth of books on poison antidotes while you wer—”

A hand suddenly smacked into Tommy’s skull, and he yelped. Behind him, Wilbur scowled. “Tommy!” he scolded. There was a soft giggle, then Wilbur whirled, his eyes narrowing. “And Quackity.” The giggles stopped. “Don’t think I didn’t see you laughing. This is serious.”

There was a slight pause. “Okay, but it is funn—”

“[Y/N],” Clay suddenly said, cutting Tommy off as his hand squeezed yours.

You blinked, trying to ignore how low his voice sounded right about now. “Y-Yeah?”

He cocked his head at you, gesturing to the sheets covering your lower half. “Can you move your legs?”

“Um...” Lifting an arm, you flung the sheets off of you, carefully shifting your leg back and forth. “Y-Yeah. I’m still feeling kind of funny, though.” You wrinkled your nose. “I’m not sure if I can stand, yet.”

He frowned, his eyebrows furrowing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Damn. I had a feeling this would happen, but I still wished it wouldn’t.”

Quackity took a step forward, his hand outstretched toward you. “Here, [Y/N], try—”

A snarl ripped itself out of Clay’s throat, and his shout echoed off the walls. “Don’t touch them!”

A tense silence immediately fell over the room, and Quackity back-pedalled, pulling his hand back as if he had burned it on hot coal. You watched as a pang of guilt shot across Clay’s face before he sighed. “Sorry, I mean—” He shook his head, lowering his head. “Fuck.”

Sapnap sent him a small smile, sincere and reassuring. “Hey, man,” he said softly, “it’s alright. We get it. You’re stressed. I’d react the same way if I was in your position.”

Clay raised his chin a little, his lips quirking. “Thanks, Sap.”

Wilbur suddenly spoke up, his eyes trained on you. “Dream, I think we still have some questions we should ask.”

Clay blinked, then nodded. “Right, thanks, Wilbur.” Clearing his throat, he turned to face you head on.” Do you still remember the picnic?” When you nodded, he continued. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”

You paused, then shook your head. “Not that I can remember. I woke up, packed up a basket, walked over to the field with you, ate with everyone, then...” You gestured vaguely. “Well, y’know.”

His gaze hardened. “What did you eat?”

You thought for a moment. “Um, I ate an apple, and I had two slices of George’s bread.” You paused again, furrowing your brows. Then, your eyes lit up. “Oh, and I also ate some of the fish.”

Clay stared at you. “Fish?” he parroted.

You bobbed your head, humming. “Yeah. That’s about as much as I remember.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you could practically see the gears turning in Clay’s head. “Did anyone else here eat the fish?” he finally said after a while.

Your friends cast curious looks at one another before George raised his hand, shaking his head. “No.” He jutted his head toward you. “[Y/N] was the first and only person to, I believe.”

Clay pursed his lips. “Tubbo.”

Tubbo jumped, looking panicked and shaky as he stammered out, “Y-Yes, Dream?”

Clay narrowed his eyes. “Who exactly brought the fish?”

Tubbo gulped. “Uh, it, um, ah—” He inhaled sharply at the look on Clay’s face, then sighed. “I did, Dream.”

For a moment, it was quiet. Then, Clay sighed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Oh, it all makes sense now.”

Now, it was Tommy’s turn to speak, his expression clouded with confusion. “How the fuck does that make this make any more sense than it did before?”

Clay suddenly slipped his hand out of yours, your palm meeting nothing as he rose to his full height. You felt the air grow cold.

“Tubbo,” he said slowly, casually—almost too casually. A crooked, charming smile spread across his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “What kind of fish was it?”

Tubbo lowered his gaze to the ground. “Pufferfish,” he said in a tiny whisper.

Tommy stared. “Oh.” Understanding flickered across his face before being replaced by horror. “Oh.”

Clay took a step forward, the grin never leaving his face. “Tubbo—”

Your hand shot forward, grabbing onto his wrist before he could take another step. His arm was tense underneath your touch, but he stopped the moment your skin met his. “Clay,” you said quickly, your words rushed and hurried, “stop, please.”

He turned, looking back at you over his shoulder. You shook your head at him. “I’m sure it was an accident. Tubbo would never poison anyone deliberately, let alone me.”

You heard a soft hiccup, then Tubbo spoke. “I-I wouldn’t, I swear it! I just... I thought cooking pufferfish would make them less toxic for other people.”

Niki raised her hand, her face pleading as her eyes darted back and forth between Dream and Tubbo. “I can vouch for him, and not just because we’re friends. He might have built up his own tolerance for pufferfish poison, but I don’t think he realized just how bad it could turn out to be.”

Tubbo nodded frantically, looking smaller than ever as he finally lifted his head. “Seriously, Dream, I would never do it intentionally, I promise.” He turned to look at you, his sides shaking as your gaze met his.

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he whispered, honesty and desperation soaking into every syllable he spoke, “I really am.”

Your face softened immediately, and you could only hope he knew how sincere you were being. “I forgive you, Tubbo.” Your eyes flit to the man in front of you. “Do you, Clay?”

You couldn’t see his expression from where you were sitting, but the look of terror on Tubbo’s face said it all. “Yes,” he said, “but only because you do.”

Your grip around his wrist tightened. “Clay, I’m positive. Please, just let it be.” You tugged a little, and he turned, watching as you kicked your legs at him with a small smile. “I’m all better now, see?”

The coldness in his gaze finally seemed to melt, and he shook his head at you, his lips twitching. “Fine.” Walking back over to you, you tucked your legs back against you as he sat on the bed, levelling a glare at the crowd gathered in front of you. “Now everyone, get out.”

There was a whistle. “Jeez, aggressive mu—”

“Tommy,” Wilbur said again, already tugging at the blond’s collar as he tread toward the hall, “an angry Dream is not someone you want to mess with.”

Tommy glowered as everyone filed out of the room, his voice fading away as they disappeared outside. “Ugh, you are such a killjo—”

Sapnap sent you a friendly smile as his hand wrapped around the door handle. “I hope you feel better soon, [Y/N].”

You returned his grin with a grateful look. “Thanks, Sapnap.”

With one last wave, he pulled the door shut, leaving you alone with Clay. Shifting forward slightly, you swung your legs off the bed, nudging him with your side. “Clay?” you murmured, your eyes searching his face. It was at times like this he was easier to read.

With a sigh, he hung his head in his hands, the vein in his neck bulging out. “God, I know he means well, but I still kind of want to wring Tubbo’s neck, right now.”

You leaned against him, pressing your cheek to his bicep. “Clay, don’t say that.”

He lifted his head, growling. “I know, I know! It’s just—”

He bit his lip, then sighed again, his arm reaching up to pull you onto his lap. Shifting you around so that you were facing him, his leaned his forehead against yours, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“You don’t know how scared I was,” he whispered, sincere and true. “I never want to lose you. Ever.”

Heat crawled up your neck, and your head spun, but not for the same reasons as before. “C-Clay.”

His hand stroked along your back. “It’s the truth, y’know? I’d never lie to you, and I mean every word.” Leaning upward, he pressed his lips to your forehead as he spoke, the words shaking against your skin. “You mean more to me than you may ever know.”

You hummed, your heart blossoming in your chest. “Even if that’s the case,” you said, “you don’t need to be so upset, anymore.” You felt his lips leave your forehead, and you peered up at him through your lashes. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

You leaned back in his arms, reaching up to brush your fingertips over his freckles. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you watched him melt a little at the gesture. “Now,” you said, quiet yet firm, “promise me you won’t be mad at Tubbo the next time you see him.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

You pursed your lips. “Clay.”

He chuckled. “Alright, alright. I promise.” A sly grin slipped onto his face. “But only if...”

You raised a brow at him. “Only if...?”

You half-wanted to smack the stupid grin off his stupidly perfect face. “Only if you give me a kiss.”

You giggled, slipping your arms over his shoulder and around his neck. He always knew how to make you laugh, even at serious times like this. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his in a sweet kiss. He still tasted like freshly squeezed lemonade, gleaming in the light of the sweet summer sun. You felt him smile against you, and you pulled away mirroring his expression.

“There,” you whispered, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Does that seal the deal?”

He hummed, tilting his head at you while mischief danced in his eyes. “Maybe you should do it again just to make sure.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but couldn’t stop the giddy smile from spreading across your face.

Your picnic may have been a disaster, but you wouldn’t mind ending your days wrapped in Clay’s arms more often.

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