#although I did stumble a bit attempting to draw clothed figures today

[obstinatecondolement]

I'm not going to put anything up publicly, because my mama didn't raise no person vulnerable enough to be a beginner in public, but I started teaching myself to draw for the nth time about five days ago and it's been going much better than it ever has before.

[whereflowersbloom]

Small moments

With long dissatisfied sigh, Damian pushed back his black blanket and gradually sits up, annoyed. There wasn’t any more to it, he had been rolling around the enormous bed for nearly an hour, he just couldn’t fall back asleep. Fumbling around in the darkness of his room, he found his phone. He squinted down at it and groaned inwardly. Fucking 04:00 am blinking up at him. He shouldn’t be up for another three hours. But despite his exhaustion and attempts to fall back asleep. It’s pointless to just lay here any longer. When he arose from the bed, he felt his back muscles were particularly knotted. Tsk. Perhaps a hot shower would release some accumulated tension on his body.

Might as well begin the day, start being productive with an extra head start, apparently. Damian stretched and dug around for training clothes and toiletries, hurriedly throwing them in his gym bag, before heading down for a long hot shower. At least this morning he doesn’t have to be in any rush. He had plenty of time to go at snail’s pace, he never had the opportunity to enjoy little things. By all means, he enjoyed engaging in different activities with his teammates. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he wondered what his life would be like as a regular teenager, attending school, perhaps a girlfriend to take out on dates...Where did multimillionaire heirs take their girlfriends? A romantic dinner at some exclusive hideously expensive restaurant in Paris? That wasn’t exactly his style. He highly doubted Raven liked those places, anyway.

Predictably, he doesn’t pass anyone on the way down, the rest of the team profoundly asleep as he assumed, the showers as expected are absolutely deserted. He stumbled in, gasping under the ice cold water falling on his exposed, muscular figure, rubbing at his eyes as the shock wakes him up completely. Fucking cold water. He turned the knob sharply, and in a moment, hot water streamed down his torso. Without the bothersome presence of a another person like Garfield or Conner, Damian is able to relax under the spray of water. The warmth of the water, focusing on the sound of the water running hard onto the shower floor, his sore and stiff muscles relaxing, easing the discomfort. His now calm and serene mind unconsciously drifted back to his homeland. Nanda Parbat, his mother, grandfather, the league he vowed to protect, work along his grandfather to make the world a better place. Clever lies. Deceived by his own mother.

Without realizing it, Damian began humming. It is a lovely, centuries old tune he heard when he was a child, his mother, Talia used to sing to him whenever he had nightmares as a child, and he grew fond of it. It isn’t long before the hum evolves into mumbling, ancient words in a long unspoken language, and even less time before the mumbling grows in volume and annunciation, and he’s singing lowly, something he wouldn’t dare do normally when anyone could be in the shower. Damian Wayne doesn’t sing, not at least around anyone. He couldn’t imagine what his brothers would say to embarrass him. Especially Drake or Todd.

Damian is a moderately good mood now. There wasn’t anything that could lift the spirit, if only momentarily, like singing. And who else would be up at this hour to hear him? Nobody he had to threaten or assassinate.

Damian let a slight, soft smile slip as he shut off the water of the shower. He dries off, checking his phone. It’s only five, and although he’s shocked at how long of a shower he’s taken, it is still much too early to even properly get dressed or get started with training. He recalled Grayson mentioning a meeting later today. He pulled on a long sleeved T-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, not up to wearing his uniform at five in the morning.

Damian is suddenly startled when he leaves the showers to see a slender, tiny figure in the common kitchen. It’s only five, who else could possibly be up so early? Not Grayson or Conner he hoped.

The figure turns around, and Raven is looking back at him eyebrows raised near her hairline, mouth opened in surprise. Damian stepped closer to her, taking her in: messy dark hair, even more so being fresh out of bed, pearl-like skin, big violet eyes that resemble amethyst and pink lips curled into a warm smile. At once he feels his breath being swept right out of his chest at that radiant and tender smile. She was wearing a pair of lavender pajama shorts, exposing her thick thighs, a white oversized shirt, hiding her generous curves, she looked devastatingly adorable. God. He had to control his hormones and emotions.

“Good morning, Raven.” He cleared his throat and muttered in his usual neutral voice. What did he have to be embarrassed about? Damian sits at the island and watched attentively Raven make a cup of tea, it smelt like cinnamon and honey, at the stovetop. Damian always found it entertaining, watch her do anything, debating what kind of tea she would have today. He knew she particularly enjoyed Earl Grey, cinnamon and two teaspoons of honey and peppermint. Maybe next time he could take her out to this open-air tea house his brother mentioned last time they spoke. Did Dick mention it to him deliberately? Was he trying to...?

“What are you doing up so early?” Raven asked curiously, drawing his attention back to her, turning her attention pointedly away from Damian and to her brewing cup of tea. Damian watched her back intently, she looked to fragile and tiny in his eyes, he was wondering what could have her worked up, as she nervously reached for the honey.

“I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. Are you always up this early? I don’t think I noticed before.” Damian replies with the truth and observing how routine this all looked to Raven. She was usually up with the rise of the sun but it was a bit early for that and they didn’t have anything to do this early, no scheduled activities or tasks. He studied her body language, she wanted to say something, but she was evidently hesitating. “Everything alright?” He asked eyes fully focused on her, his expression showing concern for her.

“Yes, definitely, it’s just . . .” Raven stopped to bite her lower lip, her small hands playing with the teaspoon on the table, turning so Damian can see her profile, though trying to avoid his alert and bright green eyes. “Did you know you have a really nice voice?” She uttered faintly. Well now he knows she had been listening to him. But what she said was true. He did have a deep p, melodious voice.

“I don’t sing. Damian Wayne doesn’t sing.” Damian denies her question immediately, grabbing the closest thing to his reach, it was an apple and acting as if nothing happened.

Damian’s posture stiffened momentarily as his cheeks flame. Of course out of all the people, why did it have to be Raven? Tsk. Just his damn luck. Conner’s loud and unpleasant laughter or Garfield’s teasing he could deal with, he could always threaten them with a knife or give them his notions characteristic look of warming that they wouldn’t make it unharmed if they messed with him, but Raven was different. He can’t figure out why, but it feels like the worst possible outcome for this situation, at the same time he knew she wouldn’t say anything. She was different... he didn’t want to think why it felt that way with her from the moment they met. He didn’t believe he was ready to have the conversation about his obvious feelings for her yet.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. Not a word will slips out of my sealed lips. I simply thought it was such a nice song.” Raven smiled at him warmly, she touched his arm and he glanced up at her. His heart is thudding in his chest so loudly he was sure Raven must be able to hear it. She didn’t lie. She wasn’t his his mother or grandfather or anyone he knew before. His secrets and trust were safe with Raven.

“It’s an old lullaby from my homeland. Perhaps sometime I can explain the meaning behind it, if you want me to.” He gulped for air, and ran a hand through his still wet hair. His mind running thoughts about how often he imagined himself whispering how much he cared for her, how incredibly beautiful she was, how much she made him feel, like he belonged here with her and everyone else.

“I would love to hear about your home, Damian.” She whispered softly, sincerity and genuine interest in her voice. Her glowing amethyst eyes locked in his emerald eyes, sipping her tea, her warm fingers brushing his hand on the counter, as a sign of affection. She was there for him in all the ways. In that moment he didn’t mind that a raven heard him sing. A small jubilant smile escapes his full lips.

[holeinotomemind]

Victor: Punishment

WARNING: Smut, spanking, MC sassing Victor

Also posted on AO3: Here

Blurb:  I made a doodle of Victor bowing and apologizing to me and it is now circulating in the LFG company emails. He was beyond upset. I tried to get myself out of trouble by acting cute, but Victor was determined to punish me for it.

Victor's version and part 2 of 4 of a planned punishment themed story.

Words: 3,930

“The revenue increase forecasted for the next quarter is 5%, compared to Q3 last year. This is largely due to the increase of show production contracts and the renewal of another season of Dine Together with Loveland TV.” I sat across Victor’s desk as I went over the company forecast and budget report.

He had his elbow on his desk, cheek resting on his knuckles as he flipped through my reports, filled with graphs and numbers.

“The show had a very high rating last season, so we are expecting to get on a more popular time slot and have a much larger budget.” I went on as I elaborated on the budget projections and expected return on investments.

I looked towards Victor to see his reaction when I finally finished my presentation a good fifteen minutes later, but he remained silent.

It was amazing how anxious I still get every time I come to LFG to make these monthly reports even though I had done it countless times in the past couple of years. Even the fact that Victor and I had been together for some time now didn’t alleviate my anxiety. If anything, it exacerbated it.

Silence ensued as he continued going through my report, and all I could hear was the sound of pages flipping.

Nervousness got me restless. I tried to cross my legs but found the pencil skirt I was wearing today too restrictive. As I uncrossed them, I heard my high heels clicked inelegantly on the hardwood floor. I bit my lip and sighed.

I simply could not do anything with grace. Even when I donned this professional suit as a deliberate armor, I probably still did not look like the owner of a successful production company. But I so desperately needed to look the part.

I couldn’t afford for others to think I slept my way to the LFG fundings when everyone in our company worked so hard for it. It wouldn’t be fair for their hard work to be undermined like that just because I had decided to go out with Victor.

“If you are not confident in your report, you should not have presented it at all.” Victor’s deep voice was stern, and his words critical as always.

“It’s not that I’m not confident in the report…”

“So why are you squirming in your seat like an idiot?” He was harsh and straight to the point.

“It’s nerve-wracking, sitting there waiting for someone to judge your presentation,” I whined. “I’m not you. I’m a producer, not a businessman. This is not my forte.”

“Then fake it till you make it.” His tone was softer now, more encouraging. “You’ve done a good job on your report, and you should be proud of that. If you let people know you are nervous, it will undermine their confidence in it.”

I sighed, knowing he was right. Ever since we started going out, Victor became even more of my mentor in business. He would always be harsh on avoidable mistakes but equally encouraging towards improvements.

The meeting concluded without further issues after Victor asking several questions regarding upcoming productions. So I scrolled through some of my friends’ moments on my phone while I waited for him to check on some emails before we head out for lunch.

Then, all of a sudden, the room went quiet, and the hair on my arms stood up. There were no more mouse clicking, keyboard typing sounds, and I could literally feel the air around me drop several degrees.

I chanced a peek at Victor and immediately regretted it. He was giving me the death glare.

“What is this?” Victor demanded in a slow deep voice that had me broke out in a cold sweat. At my confused look, he waved at his monitor.

Gingerly, I got out of my chair and circled around to his side of the desk. When I saw what was on his monitor, my face paled.

There on the screen was a video of a flipbook animation drawn on the bottom corner of a notebook. It was a small doodle of a man, kneeling in front of an annoyed girl, bowing furiously and apologizing about something. Nothing was really wrong with the video.

Except the man bore a striking resemblance to Victor and the girl me.

No wonder the office was so quiet and everyone’s desks were empty when I was walking down the hall earlier. Usually, everyone was on their best behavior working at their desk when Victor was in the office, but today everyone, including the head secretary, who sits in front of Victor’s office, and Goldman were nowhere to be found.

I should have known there would be trouble when I lost my notebook two days ago. I just didn’t know it would be this bad. The video was sent to everyone with an LFG company email more than half an hour ago. By this time, every LFG employee would have seen it already.

I am so dead. My brain screamed as I let out an anxious awkward laugh.

“Who would have drawn something like that?” I feigned innocence as I slowly backed away from him.

Victor reached out quickly towards me. I felt his fingers circled my wrist just before he jerked me forcefully towards him. Losing my footing at the sudden tug, I stumbled and landed right on his lap.

“Who, indeed.” His spat, voice even lower and deeper than before. “Perhaps I should launch an investigation? This person must have a death wish to draw something like this.”

“Or maybe she was just mad that you threw away her secret stash of chips two weeks ago!”

“Or maybe she just finds it thrilling to infuriate her superior?”

“Superior?” The word touched a nerve, and I couldn’t help but retort. “Well, let me remind you that you are my company’s investor, not my superior, Mr. CEO.”

He raised an eyebrow and gave me a look that says “idiot,” and I knew I blew it. I had inadvertently admitted that I was the perpetrator.

My eyes darted around, trying to figure a way out of this, but my brain refused to cooperate, so I did the only thing that seemed appropriate at a time like this. Sweet talk him and act cute.

Putting on my sweetest smile, I smoothed his tie out my hand. “I was just upset that day because I was stressed out and really wanted to eat those chips. You know they are like my comfort food.”

Victor’s expression was unchanged, but he also did not stop me from talking, so I continued.

“Nobody else was supposed to see that doodle. It was on the notebook I carry around with me. Who knew I was going to lose it.” I pouted.

“When you are always so absent-minded and on average misplaces one thing every two weeks, can you really say you didn’t expect to lose it?” His expression was still hard, but I knew he softened up a teeny tiny bit.

“Don’t be mad. I’m sorry, but I swear I didn’t lose it on purpose. And it certainly wasn’t me who made it into a video.” I wheedled as I petted him on the shoulders in an attempt to further calm him down.

“You really think this is going to work on me?”

I didn’t know if he said that to goad me on or he was just being his annoying self, but whatever it was I took it as a challenge. Hands flat on his chest, I leaned into him, brushing my lips against his. I pulled back a little to gauge his reaction, but he simply looked back at me with his poker-face.

I leaned in again, this time kissing him more slowly and tenderly. The familiar scent of his aftershave calmed my nerves as I licked sensually at the bottom of his lips. His eyes watched me carefully as if he was assessing my performance.

When he opened his mouth slightly, I took it as an invitation. Deepening our kiss, I grazed my tongue over the tip of his and slowly rolled it against mine. He held my waist with one hand and traced the other up my back, and when I sucked lightly on his lips, I could feel his gentle squeeze on my nape. By the time I pull back again, he had his eyes closed, and we were both panting. My lips curled into a smile.

“So, who was it just now that said it wasn’t going to work on him?” I teased as my eyes focused on the red lipstick mark I left on his lips. It was oddly satisfying, seeing my mark on him.

“Who said it’s working?” He said, right before he pulled me back towards him.

He lips crashed against mine; his tongue demanded that mine to follow his lead. His kisses were like him as a person, forceful, and all-consuming. I couldn’t help but moan against his mouth.

When he finally released me, I could feel a small sting on my lips. I could only image how swollen they must have been from his kiss.

“I thought you said it’s not working,” I whispered breathlessly.

“It’s got nothing to do with it.” He kissed me again before I could comment on how his actions are contradicting his words.

His kiss was slower this time, more gentle. As I melted into him, the hand he had on my waist moved up to cup my breast. I circled my fingers around his wrist, wanting to protest, but he pressed my mouth harder against his, swallowing my words.

I could feel my body slowly began to respond to him as his large warm hand kneaded my breast as his other stroked my nape. My hands clutched his suit.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” I said half-heartedly when we finally broke apart again, cheeks flushed.

“Why?” Victor lowered his head towards my neck, nuzzling it.

“Because this is your office and someone might come in.” I tried to think rationally, although I held my grip on his black suit.

He smirked and unbuttoned my shirt in response. “You didn’t complain last time.”

“Well, I’m complaining this time then.” Whenever I was with Victor, I always feel the need to talk back for some reason even if I don’t mean it, even if it gets me into trouble.

He ran his tongue down my neck and sucked on the most sensitive spot that he got to know so well since we had been together. I moaned and shivered in response, and he sucked even harder, enough to put a mark on me.

In one fluid motion, Victor pushed one side of my clothes off my left shoulder, taking the bra strap with them so that they were all bunched up at my elbow and my breast spilled out for him to see. He pulled me closer to him. I could feel small stings as he trailed his lips across my exposed collarbone and towards my already hardened nipple, no doubt leaving his marks along the way.

Thrusting my hand in his hair, I held him close to me as he sucked on my nipple, rolling it around with the tip of his tongue as his large hand kneaded my other breast through my clothes. I mewled softly as pleasure coursed through my body.

When he finally released his mouth, Victor looked up at me and smirked. “Looks like someone is not complaining about the office setting anymore.”

Why does he have to be a jerk even at times like this? I frowned, wanting to come up with an appropriate comeback but came up empty. Frustrated, I pushed his face back towards my chest and heard him chuckle.

He pushed the rest of my blouse and bra strap off my other shoulder; the blazer already slid off on its own. Victor moved to kiss and suck on my other breast. My head rolled back as he continued to cause a small current to run through my body, and my core clenched in anticipation.

Then, a sudden pain made me yelp as I felt his teeth biting not so gently on my nipple.

“Why’d you bite me?” I grabbed his hair and yanked his head away from my chest, glaring at him accusingly. The bite didn’t hurt that badly, but I was surprised that he did it at all.

“I told you, it wasn’t working.” Placing both his hands on my waist, he lifted me up effortlessly and flipped me over. Pressing on my upper back with his palm, he pushed my upper body onto his desk while my legs dangled off of it. I shuddered at the sensation of the cold desk against my sensitive nipples.

About to protest at the sudden change in position, I turned my head back towards Victor to find that he had stood up from his executive chair, his large body looming over mine. I lost all my words of objections when I saw him hooking a finger to the knot of his grey tie as he slowly pulled to loosen it.

I didn’t understand why some people think men taking off their tie was one of the sexiest things until I met Victor, but now I simply think it should be illegal. Every time I watch him do it, I get butterflies in my stomach, and I stare as if mesmerized by his action.

This time was no exception.

Throwing his tie onto his chair, he went onto undo his cufflinks and rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt. He bent his body over mine and pressed his mouth on my ear. I shuddered as his hot breath tickled my ear, and then I heard him saying, “Did you really think I have forgotten about that offensive doodle you made?”

It took me a moment to register what he meant, and when I did, it was too late. I tried to get up, to escape from this vulnerable position, but he already had me pinned with one hand pressing down on my upper back, and I could feel his other hand hiking up my skirt to bunch around my waist.

“Garter belt?” I heard him say with a hint of appreciation in his voice. He ran his hand up and down my thighs, stroking them gently, his finger tracing the elastic strip clipped to my stockings.

Snap.

I yelped out in surprise when I felt a sharp sting on my butt. He had hooked a finger under the strap and pulled, just to release it and have it snap back onto my sensitive skin.

“Victor!” I felt my core dampening when he did it again with the other side of the elastic strap, the small pain mixed with pleasure.

Placing his rough, warm hand on my buttocks, as if to soothe me of the slight pain, he kneaded it as he did with my breasts just moments ago. As his fingers squeezed my sensitive flesh, I could feel the movement slightly parting my slick folds, causing the evidence of my arousal flowed onto my thong.

Then, through my peripheral vision, I saw Victor with his hand raised.

Smack.

I heard the loud sound of his hand connecting with my flesh before I was able to process what was going on. Then, I felt the sting on the area just between my buttocks and my upper thighs. I gasped at the sensation, but before I could take another breath, Victor’s large hand connected at the same spot again.

I cried out loud as the impact vibrated through my slick core. Overwhelmed by the pleasure-pain sensation radiating through my flesh, my hands clawed at the desk as his continued to rain down on that sensitive spot of both sides of my bottom.

The sound of him punishing my poor little ass echoed through his office along with my cries. When I belatedly realized that I might have been too loud, I stuffed my fist into my mouth, trying to muffle my voice.

“Idiot, you forgot my office is soundproof?” He chuckled, paused for a moment to let his words and the tingling sensations of my mistreated bottom to sink in, before he began the spanking anew.

When he finally stopped, I could feel my upper thighs and buttocks burned and my core drenched. I turned my head to look towards Victor, unsure if he was done with my punishment or if he was simply taking a break.

His eyes on my butt, he had a smug grin on his face as if admiring his handy work. I could only imagine how red they must be right now, and my face flushed in embarrassment. 

Running his thumb over my panties, he pressed against my clit, and I felt myself shudder. “You are enjoying this punishment a bit too much I see,” I heard him say before I heard a rip.

I opened my mouth, ready to protest that Victor had just torn my brand new pair of panties, but before I could say anything, I could feel him thrusting a long digit inside me. Closing my eyes, I moaned at the sensation as his finger moved in and out of my dripping core, and all my complaints were forgotten.

Pushing my thighs apart, he went to kneel behind me. I mewled loudly when I felt his tongue flicked over my sensitive clit, sending currents down my spine. He slipped a second finger in me and then another as he slid his tongue on that small bundle of nerve endings, sucking occasionally.

My muscles clenched, pulsing around his fingers as the world splintered around me. I yelled out his name as electricity coursed through my body, his mouth sucking on my clit throughout.

When my breathing finally slowed, and I calmed down, I heard him unclipping my stockings from the garter belt, rolling them down my legs as he kissed my inner thighs. I stepped out of them, along with my high heels, and saw Victor throw them onto his chair, landing beside his tie.

Slowly, he stood to his full height. The sun shone through the windows behind him, and for a second he looked like a giant shadow looming over me. The feeling of being overpowered by a man of his size was intimidating, yet exhilarating at the same time.

I watched the movement of his broad shoulders as he slowly took off his belt and opened his zipper. He took his already hardened length in his hand, stroking several times before he took his wallet out from the desk drawer and fished out a condom.

Ripping open the package with the help of his teeth, he slowly rolled it onto his erection before pressing himself against my slick core. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself entirely inside me. I was wet and ready to accept him, but the feeling of his hot length filling and stretching me in one thrust had me gasping out loud.

Just like with anything else, he didn’t give me any time to adjust. He immediately began to pump in and out of me with stroke after powerful stroke. There was no rhythm to his thrusts as if he wanted to take me by surprise. I moaned out loud every time his pelvis connected with my still-sore buttocks, and the cool metal of my garter belt clasps hit my upper thigh.

I closed my eyes as the pleasure built up in me once again, and I could hear the sounds of Victor’s heavy breaths and small groans. And then I heard a noise that didn’t belong:

A knock on the door.

“Victor! Someone’s coming.” My eyes flew open as I gasped in surprise. Planting my palms on the desk, I tried to push myself up, only to be pushed back down on to the desk with a thud by Victor. He pressed his large hand against my upper back, holding me down with a strength I wasn’t able to fight off.

Every muscle in my entire body clenched at the thought of the horror of being caught having sex in the office, but Victor didn’t seem to care as he continued thrusting inside me. Shoving my fist inside my mouth, I tried to stifle my voice.

I watched in horror, as if in slow motion, the office door opened and Goldman’s brown colored dress shoes appeared behind the door as he stepped in. I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining the embarrassment of being seen like this by Victor’s assistant, and silently praying that this was just a nightmare.

But the expected scandalous gasp never came. Hesitantly, I cracked my eyes open several moments later and found everything unchanged. The door was still cracked open, and Goldman’s shoes were still peeking out behind it.

It took me a moment before I realized what must have happened and heard Victor’s chuckle.

“Did you really think I was going to let him see you like this?” His voice filled with amusement.

“Then why didn’t you say so?” I yelled at him, half frustrated and half relieved. I should have known that he would stop time to prevent us from getting caught, but in the heat of the moment, I panicked and completely forgot about his evol ability.

“Consider it as part of your punishment.” He said as he playfully slapped my butt. “Besides, you were so afraid that you got so tight. Did you really expect me to stop when your sweet little cunt is squeezing my cock like that?”

I blushed at his words. Unable to come up with anything as a comeback, I silently cursed him for being a jerk and myself for falling in love with said jerk, but the cursing didn’t last long.

Victor circled his hands around my waist as he resumed his long deep thrusts, this time pulling me against him to increase the impact and grinding against me when he was fully inside. Pleasure began to build inside me once again, as my pelvis hit the edge of his desk every time he slammed into me and the impact vibrated straight to my clit.

My mind went blank as the world shattered once again around me, and my muscles clamped down on him. Energy rippled through my body over and over, I arched my back, pushing myself against him, willing for the pleasure to continue.

Victor quickened his rhythm, pounding in me faster and faster. Then with a loud grunt, his length began to throb. He buried himself deep inside me; his body shuddered as he came, hands gripping my waist, fingers digging into my skin almost painfully.

He leaned towards me and buried his face in my neck as he tried to calm his ragged breath. Equally breathless, I reached my hand back to caress his nape slowly. We stayed in that position until we both recovered, and he kissed my temple before slipping out of me.

We took our time cleaning up and getting dressed. By the time Victor resumed time and Goldman walked into the office, I was again sitting in the chair across from Victor as if nothing had happened, the only evidence being the used condom in the trash can.

As I listened to Goldman’s report and Victor ordering that video of my doodle to be removed from the face of the planet, I secretly wondered what he would do to me if he found the other doodles I drew of him.

[mars-barssss]

you aren’t alone anymore: Patton (3/6)

Chapters

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Trigger warnings: Illness/Poison, Deceit mention, Low Self-worth, Argument

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan,

Pairings: Platonic LAMP; Platonic Analogical, Platonic Moxiety, Platonic/Romantic Prinxiety

Word Count: 2.3k Words.

Summary: Virgil’s need to protect others goes beyond physical protection. He does a good job of looking after each of the others in his famILY, but he doesn’t have the time to take care of himself. Lucky for him, he’s got someone looking after him too. More than one actually, to his surprise.

--- --- ---

Patton’s not anywhere in the mindscape. Virgil finds him alone and unconscious in his room, with a snake bite on his neck. When he wakes up, there is a rather large problem.

…

After both Roman and Virgil emerge out of the imagination, both sides are laughing heartily. A gentle arm was looped around Roman’s shoulders. Roman’s room looks a lot better now; the papers have put themselves back together and on shelves, books were rebuilt, and Roman’s bed was remade. The only thing that seemed to still be torn was Roman’s own sash, which Roman brushes off.

“Don’t worry about it Prince Edge, it’ll put itself back together. Speaking of something that won’t put itself back together, Pocket Protector hasn’t given me back my script! I’ll be back faster than you can say ‘Dragon-witch’!” The prince yells out, as his door slams with an intimidating sound. Virgil flinches at the sound, before turning to the torn sash.

Roman was the creative one, so he always has the best time repairing and creating things in the mindscape. While he was the best, he wasn’t the only one who could do it. He didn’t want to just leave the sash, because usually, their rooms reflected their mental state, and it simply bothered him.

His hand caressed the sash, a tight frown forming. Slowly, the sash rose upwards, floating in front of him, much like how Roman would do it. Although, there was some tense energy that built up around it and inside of him, emanating from him. Roman probably had some carefree energy, instead of Virgil’s anxious one, but it’s what he had. Slowly, his hands shakily reached out for a smaller rip in the seams, as his magic began to sew it back together. Each stitch stuck out from the beautiful work on the main sash. Virgil tried to focus harder, trying to making it blend in, or maybe to hide them better. Some stitches came out better than others, but there were some larger stitches, no matter how much he tried. He kept trying to make it better, frustrating himself that he couldn’t help his friend like how he wanted. Limitation or not, it drove him angry. Eventually, pushing past a sick feeling in his chest, and a migraine-like headache, he finished the largest tear in the sash. Letting out a large, shaky sigh, the material fell to the table. Virgil couldn’t help but grip at his head in anguish for a moment, letting his head sink to the table. It was simply exhausting.

“... Thank you.”

...That was Princey’s voice.

Despite the quiet words, Virgil still managed to flail in shock, nearly falling to the floor. Roman caught his arm, pulling him up from the dresser. Apparently, Virgil was so distracted he didn’t even hear the prince come in. “What…?” Virgil’s awestruck manner bled into his voice so much that Roman couldn’t help but laugh.

“I said thank you, you emo-nightmare.” He gestured towards the sash, his smile softer than Virgil could ever remember. Fond, even.

“Uh, don’t mention it.” Virgil felt his face flush, looking away from the prince. Roman never really did say, ‘thank you’ so hearing it now was honestly a miracle. “I know it’s a bit of an awful job, so I’m sorry. I wouldn’t mind if you uh, wanted to fix it.” He raised the hastily stitched sash to the prince.

Roman was looking at his awful job of removing the tears and he’s going to fake his happiness over his own prized sash that he could’ve fixed correctly, why did you do it, why, he’s going to be mad-

“It’s perfect.” Virgil could hear the smile in his voice. Those words sounded sincere, so maybe he could believe them for once. Turning his head back, his eyes met Roman’s. Roman had the most beautiful smile at the moment. He looked almost content, holding the sash close.

“I-I’m glad you like it. I’ll uh be getting to my room.” He brushed off the expression he saw and began to turn towards the door, but before he moved, Roman leaned forward and kissed his cheek gently. Then, he quickly retreated from Virgil, his own face flustered. He did wave a gentle goodbye as Virgil rushed out of the room, his face a bright red.

That went surprisingly well.

By the time Virgil left, it was sunset. Time seemed to pass much quicker when running around the imagination. Not that he particularly minded the shift in time.

Virgil’s own heart was pounding much louder than it usually was. Once in his room, he ended up in a mess on the ground, unable to handle the contact. Yet, the room unnerved him slightly, giving his heart rate another reason to be high.

Oh look, another fling, another heart-to-heart. With the selfish prince, of course.

Virgil simply shrugs off the voice that seemed intent to stick around. “So what? You have something to say?”

It’s strange you left us for this. You seem so much open with people you just met.

“At least they genuinely care about me.” He let his body sink to the ground.

Liar. We cared about you.

“See, cared. That’s for a reason.” He looked towards his abandoned bed. Virgil didn’t feel tired again. This felt like a repeat of last night. “Get your act together, and I’ll be back later. Peace.”

Virgil exited his room quietly, avoiding listening to the voice as he went down the stairs.

Passing through the kitchen, he got some milk. Warming it up for a bit, he noticed how everyone else seemed to have relocated to their rooms, besides Logan. Logan remained on the opposite end of the couch, reading and writing some notes down. It was easily seen that he didn’t want to be interrupted. It was understandable. The audition was tomorrow, so Roman had probably went back to practicing, Logan was making sure tomorrow was planned, there was a calendar out, and Patton…

Patton was probably watching videos and relaxing in his room.

He really needed to apologize. He shouldn’t have pushed him out again. And maybe he also owed one to Logan too. He preferred doing this, than going back to his own room.

He passed by the light side rooms, glancing into the two slightly open doors. As he expected, Roman was practicing. Logan was probably still in the living room planning, of course. The final door was Patton’s. He knocked on the door, and waited expectantly. Usually, the father figure would open the door within a few moments. Usually.

It’s been a minute or two, and Virgil was still at the door. He raises his voice, saying, “Patt? Are you in there?”

Something was unsettling about it. His stomach dropped and he felt bile rising at the back of his throat. Something was definitely wrong.

He attempted to open the door, with little success. Reaching up to his neck, he grabbed the spare key to Patton’s room, much like Patton had for him. Unlocking the door, Virgil wandered the dark room, which was strange in itself. Usually, his room was bright, almost enticing. Now it was dim, almost uncomfortable. It oddly reminded him of his own room. Taking a few steps in, he could barely see the wall of his drawings, some with the word ‘famILY’ on it. It was touching to the anxious side, but something about the empty room put him right back on edge.

“Patton? Patt? Are you in here?”

One more step forward, and a few lights flickered on, as if broken, or the power went out. Which was, odd. Patton was just fine earlier today, he was even excited. Why would his room be out of power?

Further along, his shoe met with some cloth on the ground. Reaching down, in the light he saw it was Patton’s cat hoodie. It was abandoned, which surprised him. Picking it up, he held it close, almost as a comfort.

His room looked less and less maintained as he wandered through. Soon, he heard something wrong. Crying.

Picking up the pace slightly, he rounded Patton’s bed, where the cries grew louder.

Patton was laying on the hard floor curled up. The sight itself clenched Virgil’s heart. “Patton!” Running over to the side, he stumbled and fell to his knees beside him. Looking him over, Virgil’s hands twitched around, searching him for anything, but scared to touch him. Finally, with enough courage, he bit his tongue and turned patton onto his back. From the movement, his neck was exposed, showing two deep bite marks. Immediately, Virgil’s blood boiled for a moment. Oh, did he want to flay that snake into pieces right now, he wanted to freaking kill him after this. How dare he have the audacity to do this! His white knuckles tightened into his hoodie, his eyes seething with anger.

It didn’t last, however, as with a small whimper from the side beside him, his anger drained quickly out of him, leaving his body empty with adrenaline to hold it together.

“Patton, I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have left, I-” Virgil began to tear up, before wiping the tears away. This wasn’t the time for it. Patton needed help, and he could do it. If he just focused.

“Bear with me, Patt. You’re okay. You’re… okay.” As he went to pick up the moral side, he kept uttering those words under his breath, unknown rather the words were for Patton or Virgil himself. He decided both as he placed him on his bed. During the movement, the lights in the room flickered a bit more quickly, flashing.

Patton whimpered again, almost muted by the bed. It was a sad sight. Virgil hated it. He hated it so much. He gently put a finger on the scabbed wound, whispering a few words, as his finger lit up purple and black. Slowly, it removed the golden swelling around it, leaving two poison less cuts. His powers would have to still work its way through Patton, but it was better than nothing. Anxiety was seemingly a good cure for whatever delusion poison Deceit put him through.

A few tears fell from Patton’s eyes, as he turned over, groaning. Virgil gently wiped at tears that fell, before realizing his own tears weren’t helping with his attempts. A few more apologies fell from his lips, before he turned towards a presence in the room.

“...Leave.”

Am I not wanted at this exact moment?

“Just go. I wouldn’t hesitate to end you if I didn’t have something more important in my mind right now.”

Sentimental, aren’t you? Alright. I’ll be seeing you soon, Vee. I’m warning you though, he knows.

And as quick as the presence had arrived, he disappeared.

Virgil’s expression melted into a tired grimace. His gaze softened as he looked back at Patton. Fixing the blankets, he placed Patton’s hoodie on top of him and his blanket. Patton’s hands unconsciously reached for it, tightening his grip.

Virgil was indeed curious and concerned how Patton had gotten himself into this situation, but honestly, he’d give up that information if it meant Patton would be okay.

…

Virgil didn’t leave Patton’s room a lot while he was unconscious. Sometimes he tidied Patton’s blankets when he moved in his sleep. Sometimes, he talked to him, maybe to help him wake up. Patton didn’t wake up until the next morning. And once again, Virgil had gotten no sleep, or almost no sleep. Virgil’s hand was tightly wound around Patton’s hand. He had managed to fall asleep for about an hour, before Patton stirred beside him. His head shot up, staring straight towards Patton, although a bit lethargic. Patton greeted him with a weak, warm smile.

“Patton!” Virgil’s eyes widened, as Patton was finally awake. He leaned forward, holding Patton’s hand tighter. “You’re awake! I wasn’t sure if you were uh, going to wake up. Are you okay?”

“Heh, hey kiddo.” His smile grew a bit strained. “Honestly, I’m-” He lifts up his hoodie. “Purrfectly fine!”

Virgil chuckled slightly, earning a bit of a more relaxed smile from the moral side. “You scared me, Patt.”

“Sorry about that, Virge. But, I really am alright now, see?” He gave his best smile to the other side to prove it.

Virgil looked at Patton’s face, noticing the smaller details in his smile. “Okay… But, what happened?”

“What do you mean?” Patton perked up in concern, more than anything. His facade of cheer was wearing at the edges, but he kept going.

“You had a bite from him, and I found you unconscious. Why?” Virgil laid it all out there, his grip on Patton’s hand tightening. Patton’s expression froze, and sank.

“It’s not what it looked like, Virgil. I… He…” He rose his free hand to his mouth and looked away. “I… don’t know how to explain it, okay? He just wanted to show me something, and…”

“You can’t be telling me you let him just… do that to you.”

“Virge, I…”

Virgil shuddered, looking at Patton, through slowly tearing up eyes, blinding him. Patton’s expression was guilty and distraught. He fought for his own words to say, but came up empty. “I…”

“No, Patton. Don’t tell me you just… gave yourself up to him, your mind to him so he could let you rest in his lies! What did you even see, I- What could you even be looking in him for?”

“Virgil.” Virgil looked up as Patton was tearing up. He briefly took a moment to wipe his eyes, before turning back to him. His face flushed with anger. “How did you even know that’s what he did, he was just- talking with me Virge! How would you even know that that would be the reason for everything-”

“Because he used to do it to me all of the time!” Virgil snapped for a moment, before covering up his mouth and looking away. He mumbled into his hoodie, backing away. “I…- Just know, you can’t do that, okay? That’s all he can do with that bite… and… I- I have to go.”

“Virgil? Wait, Virgil! Don’t-”

“Talk to you later, Patt.” Virgil said quietly, his growl in his voice fading as he sank out of the room with a brief, fake smile at Patton. The last thing he saw of Patton for a long time, was his shocked expression and tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Virgil-!”

Well, at least Patton was okay, at least you did your job.

[shawnsruins]

take action | pt. 1

THIS WAS PREVIOUSLY NAMED “do something about it”

whats up ladies im back with pt 1 of a series (ion know how long it’ll be yet but lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist!)

summary: shawn’s a little too late and you’re a little too tired, but maybe it’s not too late for things to change?

“She has a what?”

Geoff sighs exasperatedly at his friend, who’s eyes look like they’re about to burst out of his head.

“A boyfriend, Shawn. She has a boyfriend.”

The poor boy looks like he’s run a marathon, his hair unruly from the countless amount of times he’s ran his fingers through them. His usually rosy cheeks are noticeably more flushed, although Geoff can’t tell if it’s from anger or stress. Both would be a safe bet, he thinks.

Honestly, he wasn’t that surprised when Y/N casually mentioned a new boyfriend during their little catch up a few days ago. She and Shawn had history for sure, if you could even call it that. It wasn’t exactly a friends with benefits situation—no, it was more a “I’m not ready to commit but I want love” kinda thing. At least on Shawn’s end. Geoff was certain that Y/N was ready ages ago, but Shawn just never bothered to go beyond whatever strange relationship they had.

“No, no, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding. I swear to god, Geoff, if you’re messing with me...”

Geoff meets his gaze sympathetically, “You guys were never even officially together, were you? The poor girl probably got tired of waiting around.”

Shawn glares at his friend, huffing, “No, but I thought we both knew, you know? You don’t see me going out with random girls!”

“Maybe you should’ve done something about it to make sure she would continue not seeing other guys. It’s really your fault if you think about it,” Geoff points out. He’s being a little harsh, he knows, but it’s what Shawn needs to hear.  He’s in deep, but he’s got absolutely no clue what to do with himself. Shawn doesn’t respond to his observation, however, instead opting to chew on his lip and sulk in silence.

“What are you scared of? Commitment?” He probes. Shawn looks up at him frustratedly, eyes tired.

“No, it’s not-it’s not that!”

“Then what?”

“…I don’t know,” Shawn admits, voice low. Geoff feels bad for his friend, he really does, but he can’t help but sigh. There’s nothing he can do if Shawn wasn’t even ready to accept that he needed to figure out his own problems before confronting Y/N about…whatever it was between them. He licks his lips, choosing his words carefully before he speaks.

“Why don’t you ask yourself what it is, then? Figure it out, understand why it never worked out. Then maybe you can sit down and talk to her about it,” he offers. Shawn meets his gaze resignedly and he nods slowly. Geoff stands and pats him on the back, checking his pockets for his phone and keys, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Shawn isn’t sure what it is about her that’s gotten him so hooked. She’s pretty, yes, but she’s not the model type that he so often finds himself surrounded by. Regardless, he finds her beautiful in a different kind of way that was just so uniquely her, and it draws him in in a way that he just can’t seem to escape. It isn’t just her looks that he finds attractive, though—he isn’t that shallow, his parents raised him better—but who she is. They just click together so well, balancing each other out where one runs a little short and the other has a little too much. (That’s what couples are like, right? They match each other.) He supposes it’s only fitting that he’d want someone like her so bad; no one understands him quite as well as she does and there was certainly no one else that had been there for him through thick and thin. She had seen both the worst and best parts of him (and he can say for sure that the worst parts were truly bad), just as he had seen the best and worst parts of her (he can’t quite say the same for her, but maybe he’s just biased?). Sure, sometimes they argue because she’s just a bit too closed off and he’s just a bit too angry, but he honestly wouldn’t change a damn thing.

Well, maybe not a damn thing except for the fact that she was dating someone who wasn’t him.

Shawn groans in annoyance, tugging at the roots of his hair for what must’ve been the umpteenth time in the past hour. Ever since Geoff left he’s been sitting and thinking, just like he told him to. ‘Figure it out,’ right? Sounded simple, but with his luck, it turned out to be just that much harder. He thought it’d be easy for him to sort out his feelings; for someone who so often wore their heart on their sleeve he didn’t think there would be so many conflicting thoughts bouncing around inside his head. At this point, he can’t even distract himself with anything. He’s tried writing, he’s tried picking at his guitar, and he’s even tried stress baking (ironically, that was an idea he got from Y/N, so he figures there’s really no point in trying to avoid thinking about her since it’s clearly not working out), despite knowing that he can’t bake. At all.

So here he is, moping around by himself in his dirty kitchen with a disaster that could barely pass as a meager attempt at sugar cookies. He’d say the silence was suffocating, but truthfully, he just wants his brain to shut up because his thoughts are getting too damn loud.

“I need to get a fucking grip,” he mutters.

Decidedly done with sulking in his condo, Shawn brushes off as much flour as he can from his clothes and hair before grabbing his keys and making his way outside. Thankfully there don’t seem to be any stalker fans waiting for him today (He still didn’t understand—how did they even know where he lived? And didn’t they have better things to do than camp out just so they could jump him? It gives him the creeps just thinking about it). Starting up his jeep, he begins the short drive to that little cafe he always seemed to frequent. Caffeine probably wasn’t going to help his situation at all, but he needs to be somewhere that’s not his apartment.

He rolls the window down a little, the cool breeze a welcome change. Shawn loves tour life, really, but there’s just some things about being home that can’t beat tour life. He absolutely adores driving, and that’s something that he just can’t do on tour. But at home? No one gets to drive his jeep except him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t drive everywhere. Relaxed, he hums along to the radio, John Mayer blasting through the speakers at nearly full volume. Soon enough, the recognizable sign falls into view. The spot he always manages to park in is empty as usual, and he’s glad that something seems to be going his way, at least. Unfortunately, Shawn finds that he’s a little quick to say anything, given that he nearly does a double take when he sees someone he’s a little too familiar with inside the cafe.

There’s a girl inside that’s undoubtedly Y/N, except she’s not alone. The other guy—the other guy looks familiar too, although he can’t quite place it. Wait…

“Nathan?” he says aloud, confusion lacing his tone. For a second he completely blanks out, not even believing what he’s seeing. There’s no way, he thinks, no way in hell this was happening. He’s sure his expression is nothing short of comical at the moment, but he’s just so fucking perplexed. Was it really Nathan, as in Nathan from high school? The very same Nathan that had a fling with Y/N before moving away to Vancouver? All the way across the fucking country? Shawn rubs his eyes a little harder than he should’ve, in hopes that he was mistaken and Y/N really wasn’t with her high school sweetheart (Did it even count if it only lasted a month?). He really, really hopes that he saw something else. But no, when he opens his eyes and squints through the window into the small shop, there she is, with Nathan fucking Sawyer.

He’s quick to park his car, not even bothering to pay the meter. Stumbling hurriedly out and pushing the door to the cafe open a little harsher than necessary, the ringing from the bell atop the door seems to stop him in his tracks. Luckily, the patrons inside don’t bother paying attention to his strange entrance, which he’s grateful for. The one person Shawn cares about  does look up to meet his gaze, however, and he catches himself smiling and walking towards her before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Shawn?”

“Hey,” he greets, a grin on his face. Her eyes are bright and surprised, and he’s relieved that there doesn’t seem to be any animosity lingering in them. He holds his arms open for a hug, which she readily accepts. She feels right in his arms, he thinks, and he tightens his grip just a little. The hug lasts a bit longer than what any two, 100% platonic friends should share; fitting, since he knows that they’re far from just a platonic relationship. A cough interrupts their little moment, however, and Y/N is quick to pull away after that. Shawn’s eyes shoot up to the culprit, who, as he dreaded, is indeed who he thought he was. He plasters a fake smile on his face, not wanting to appear rude for no apparent reason.

“Oh, Shawn, you remember Nate right? From-“

“From high school, yeah I remember,” he cuts in. Y/N furrows her brows and gives him a weird look, but doesn’t say anything about his strange behavior. Nathan on the other hand doesn’t even seem to notice, and instead offers a brief smile.

“Hey man, what’s up? You’re like, famous and all now aren’t you?”

Shawn shrugs, though his shoulders are tense, “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” There’s something about Nathan that just pisses him off, even though he hasn’t even done anything outright (Deep down he knows it’s because he’s here with Y/N and he’s not, but he pushes that thought aside because it’s easier to pretend it’s not the case).

“Never woulda thought you’d turn out like this. The Shawn Mendes, huh?”

Shawn only shoots him a tight lipped smile, the other boy completely oblivious to his hostility towards him. Granted, Shawn’s passive aggressive response is uncalled for, but nonetheless his not so subtle body language seems to fly over Nathan’s head. The same cannot be said for Y/N, however, who knows Shawn like the back of her hand and is quick to try to defuse the situation.

“So, what’re you doing here?” She questions, inserting herself into the conversation, “Are you on break?”

“Yeah, I’m back for two weeks. I don’t wanna talk about me, though. How are you? Anything…new going on?” Shawn raises a brow at the end, almost as if he was daring her to deny that she and Nathan were back together. Y/N eyes him curiously for a moment before tilting her head and grabbing Nathan’s hand, their fingers interlacing. Shawn can feel the jealousy pool in his stomach, his heart dropping. The tips of his ears burn in an unfamiliar mix of embarrassment and anger—a combination he finds he does not like. There was a small part of him that had so desperately clung onto the notion that maybe Nathan just happened to be in town and they were catching up as friends, but clearly that was not the case.

“Nate moved back to Toronto recently and we decided to catch up. See if that old spark is still there, y’know?”

Her reply is innocent enough that he can’t find it in himself to be angry at her specifically, but the very idea of Y/N dating someone that wasn’t him—especially Nathan of all people—leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He thinks back to what Geoff told him earlier, about how he should’ve “done something about it” and that “it was his fault.” He was right, it was his own fault and he should’ve done something. 

And Shawn knows, that at this point it’s really not his place to interfere. It’s really, really not his place to do anything. A part of him is screaming, telling him that if he does something it’ll just end up fucking over any remaining chances he had with Y/N. That it’s one hundred percent the absolute shittiest move he could pull on anyone, much less the girl he holds so close to his heart. But the larger, irrational, angry, jealous monster that is the rest of him has been whispering in his head nonstop ever since Geoff broke the news, and it just won’t shut up no matter how hard he tries to quell it. 

And of course Shawn knows that he should listen to that rational voice, the one shouting at him from the recesses of his mind to just back off, to just deal with it and suck it up. But right now, in the moment, he can’t help but listen to the voice hissing, “take the goddamn shot, coward.”

So he takes it.

“Yeah,” Shawn narrows his eyes, gaze burning into their intertwined hands, “I get what you mean.”

[askthelittleassistant]

Happy (belated) Birthday!

Just a little something as thanks for being a good friend and a source of inspiration when my creativity was at a low point. Happy belated birthday, Shop!

-------

Today was a day just like any other: groggily stumble out of bed and clamber down to the floor, trudge downstairs, hastily scarf down a light breakfast, get dressed-- all while avoiding the occasional thudding footstep from a certain ego as he, too, got prepared for the day.

 A day just like any other, aside from a nagging disappointment tugging at the back of Shop’s mind.

 She’d refused to get her hopes up, that Dark would actually do anything for her birthday, much less remember her birthday-- it just wasn’t like him.

But even so, as she adjusts her tailor-made uniform, a gloomy sigh escapes her lips. Dark hadn’t even said a word, aside from muttering a brief “good morning” and “the meeting’s in forty-five minutes, hurry up”.

Shop had literally expected nothing, and yet she finds herself overwhelmingly downtrodden by it all.

 The meeting carries on as usual, with her sitting politely and observing while attempting to ignore the cold, glitching hand loosely clutched around her form. At least he’s been getting better lately about not squeezing her too tightly, and she considers it perhaps some kind of small birthday miracle that the meeting goes well enough that his grip only tightens once or twice-- but even then, only lightly.

However, the routine of the day is suddenly thrown off when the meeting ends; instead of heading out as usual, Dark seems to grow more… agitated, than usual. Urges her to go home with King and Host for a few hours, says that he has work to do at the house that can’t be interrupted, under any circumstances.

 Dark seems serious, enough to make Shop feel a bit nervous-- she doesn’t protest or ask him what he’s doing, even though her curiosity is most certainly piqued. Fortunately enough, her friends are happy enough to have her over. When they’re back at the Host’s part of the house and he’s busy making lunch for himself and the two humans accompanying him, Shop is almost tempted to say it’s her birthday, but some invisible pressure keeps her mouth shut, a small sense of guilt, maybe, or the disappointment lingering in her mind from earlier in the morning. Either way, she keeps quiet but has a nice, relaxing afternoon regardless: no chores, no tiptoeing around, no telltale irritated ringing in the background-- just good food, friends, some tea…

 Maybe this really is what she needed for her birthday.

But, towards the evening, Shop’s phone lights up, a familiar buzz drawing her attention. A single, simple text: “You may return.”

Although it wasn’t necessarily a command, a text like that from Dark generally stands for ‘come here immediately’. So she bids King and the Host farewell, even if she’s a bit nervous about Dark’s odd behavior today, and she returns home.

However, when she enters, she’s met with an unexpected sight: the house is dark, only illuminated with the flickering of candles.

Shop hesitates before carefully walking in, slightly unnerved by the pervasive silence lingering in the air. “Dark…?” she calls out.

And then a few of the nearby candles flicker dangerously close to being blown out, a chill enters the air, and--

“Good evening, Shop.”

Shop jolts as Dark suddenly appears behind her, and she whips around in order to catch sight of the ego looming before her.

“H-hey, Dark, geez don’t give me a heart attack…” Her words trail off as she peers up at him, her eyes widening slightly.

Instead of his usual black suit, today he’s dressed in white, his hair meticulously combed and tidy. Somehow, he seems even more elegant than usual. He clears his throat and straightens, his arms folded behind his back.

“...Apologies for startling you,” he mumbles before kneeling and offering his hand out to his assistant. “Care to come with me? I have a surprise for you.”

Shop blinks before nodding, eyeing him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “...I… Yeah, sure?” She hesitates before pulling herself up into his palm.

Dark’s fingers almost automatically curl inwards, lightly brushing against Shop’s back as he straightens back up. And then he marches over to the kitchen, being careful to keep his steps even, before setting his hand down on the table. With a soft nudge from his fingertips, Shop quickly gets off-- and then a soft gasp escapes her lips. The table is decorated with a soft, red, velvety cloth, a few candles strategically placed here and there to give the entire setting a warm glow. On her end of the table are some plates and silverware-- all of which are set upon a small table proportionate to her height. One plate is piled with spaghetti and the other with salad, and there’s even a properly-sized glass of water, too-- overall, it’s clear that a lot of painstaking effort went into setting all of this up.

Shop is snapped out of her awe as Dark carefully pushes her chair back with a nudge of his hand, before he gestures for her to sit down. She quickly complies and he pushes her chair a little closer to the small table, and then he moves to the other end of the larger table.

“Did you seriously do all of this just for me?” Shop finally pipes up, her eyes sparkling in delight. Dark takes a seat and clears his throat, looking rather… embarrassed. “I thought you might like something for your birthday.”

Shop shoots him a grin before looking down at the carefully-set table of her own. “Dark, are you kidding? I love it!”

He raises an eyebrow, a sudden, quiet hitch in his ringing indicating his surprise. “...I’m glad. You’ll have to let me know if the food is alright-- I haven’t cooked in a while--”

Shop doesn’t hesitate to dig in, still looking rather pleased to have all of these things so comfortably proportioned to her own size. After a few bites, she smiles at Dark again. “It’sh really good!”

Dark makes an amused snort as she swallows and continues to eat, lightly picking at his own food. “That’s nice to hear, considering the fact that I’m a bit out of practice.”

“Heh, could’a’ fooled me!”

The two continue to idly chatter as they eat dinner, and for the first time in a long while, Shop feels genuinely relaxed in Dark’s presence. After they both finish up and their chatter continues for a few minutes over their empty plates and glasses, Dark eventually squares his shoulders and sits a little straighter.

“I have another… well. Gift, for you. A proper birthday present, if you will.”

Shop blinks in surprise. “Wait-- oh, Dark, you really didn’t have to! You even got me a gift, on top of all this…? Geez, I’m gonna have a hard time reciprocating on your birthday--”

Dark snorts. “Good luck finding out my actual ‘birthday’, then.”

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dark doesn’t answer, instead reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small, glimmering--

 Necklace?

 Shop gasps softly as his hand moves closer, the necklace carefully gripped between his finger and thumb.

“I apologize for not finding a suitable covering for the necklace-- I couldn’t figure out how to wrap something so small, so this had to do.”

She takes the necklace with an awed expression on her face, running her fingers over the silky-smooth texture of the pearls strung together to form a practically-glowing necklace. After a moment’s hesitation, she carefully slips it over her head-- and, much to her delight (and Dark’s relief), the necklace fits perfectly.

“Wh-where did you get something like this…?” Shop breathes, running her fingers over the necklace once again.

“It was… an old possession. I felt it would be in better hands if you had it, instead.” He pauses before frowning slightly. “Is it alright? Do you like it?”

 Shop’s head lifts at an alarming speed, her eyes shining as she shoots him a smile. “Are you kidding? I love it! Thank you so much!”

 Dark’s shoulders twitch, his eyes widening slightly. “...Good. Good, I’m glad that you enjoy it.”

Shop pauses before getting up and walking across the surface of the tablecloth, standing before Dark’s looming form. Although normally a bit intimidated by his stature, Shop doesn’t hesitate this time to spread her arms as far as she can and press herself against his chest-- giving him a makeshift ‘hug’.

“Thank you, Dark. I didn’t expect anything for my birthday, and then you… I mean. You went and did all of this for me…!”

Dark stiffens under her touch, but then he slowly exhales, hesitantly moving a hand to pat Shop on the back.

“Make no mistake, you’re going back to doing chores and such first thing tomorrow.”

Shop pouts, but nods and gives a small snort before backing up. “Yeah, yeah… I kinda figured. At least I’m plenty full, though-- that was a really nice dinner.” She shoots a hopeful smile up at him. “We should do it again sometime!”

“Hmm. Perhaps,” Dark mumbles, glancing off to the side for a moment. Then his gaze turns back down to his assistant, a smirk forming at the corners of his lips. “Though, I do hope you’re not too full. A birthday wouldn’t be complete without a cake, no?”

Shop’s eyes widen. “Whoa, whoa, what, really?! You even made a cake, too?”

Dark can’t resist a chuckle at her response. “Of course. Now, would you like to go blow out your candles? ...Er. Candle. Despite everything else I found, I couldn’t exactly get my hands on any candles your size.”

Shop blinks before clenching her fists in excitement. “Dude. I’m gonna get to blow out the biggest candle ever.”

Once again, Dark is caught off-guard by her response-- he then snorts and offers his hand, palm-up, on the table. “Your enthusiasm is impressive. Alright, then, let’s go see if you’re up for the task.”

Shop grins before stepping into his hand. As he lifts her, she quickly sits down to stay balanced-- she’d rather not fall off today, thank you very much.

As Dark marches further into the kitchen, where he had hidden the cake out of sight, he can’t help the smile-- a genuine smile-- that works its way onto his face as he looks down at Shop, watching her fidget in anticipation.

 Happy birthday, my dear assistant.

------

Shop smiled as she walked through the woods, reading back on the event as it had happened; so much had changed in the time she had spent with Dark, and it showed... she walked a little faster, eager to see her friend again.

((Ok this is now from exactly one year ago and god I still love it!!!!! I have no idea why I didn't post it then hey, better late than never i suppose! Thank you so Sam!!!))

[rainbowgraffiti]

Put All These Pieces Back Together

// requested by anonymous:  HI U R SUCH A GOOD WRITER I CRY okay could u possibly do a Peter Parker x reader where the reader has a crush on Peter but she doesn't know if he likes her and she used to have an eating disorder & one day they're @ a party and her drunk friend says something about her not eating today or something and Peter overhears and takes her aside and asks if she's okay and like comforts her idkIDK like maybe angst at first but then super cute by the end IDK THANKS SO MUCH ILY

// a/n: oml i feel so loved, thank you so much for the praise!! i’m so, so sorry this took so long to get up, i had a massive, unshakable case of writer’s block. i hope i did okay... it’s sort of cheesy but hopefully you’ll like it anyway. thanks for the request and the love <3 enjoy!!

// character: peter parker/spiderman

// pairing: peter x reader

// summary: “your heart’s never soared this high and you think he might just be the person to fix you.”

It's past curfew on a Friday night, and this is exactly the sort of situation you've been told to stay away from.

The party seems like something straight out of a cliche high school romance flick, with red solo cups littering the floor and hormonal teenagers pressed against each other in the corners, lips locked together and hands roaming each others' bodies.

Your senses feel dulled by the constant, heavy thrum of the bass blasting through the speakers and the strong reek of alcohol that seems to have settled into the air. Still, you haven't been to a party since--well, since before everything that happened last year, and Becca has vehemently assured you that the awkwardly clingy black top you dug out of her closet makes you look "like a total catch".

So part of you thinks that having a little fun might not be such a bad idea.

You destroy your opponents through a few rounds of beer pong, expertly avoid a game of seven minutes in heaven before one of your friends can drag you in, fail fantastically at pool and spend a lot of the night mingling and swaying to the music.

It's a little past midnight when Becca stumbles into you, a ditsy smile plastered on her face and her eyes clouded with insobriety.

"Hi," she mumbles giddily as she pitches forward and you hastily grab her shoulders to keep her from spilling to the ground in a heap.

You chuckle a little. "How much did you have to drink?" you say loudly, trying to make your voice heard over the pounding music.

A crease forms between her brows and she shrugs. "I dunno," she grins. "A lot."

With a mixture of exasperation and fondness, you sigh and set her on the couch. "God, you are going to have such a hangover tomorrow. Promise me you'll let me drive you home?"

She nods, but you know she's not really listening when her eyes glance in the other direction and she says in what you think is supposed to be a quiet voice, "He's staring at you." Your eyes follow her gaze to a familiar brown-haired boy in a Star Wars t-shirt, who quickly looks away to observe a nearby game of pool. "Who, Peter?" You laugh a little, but a hot blush creeps up on your cheeks and you duck your head. "Yeah right. Like he'd be staring at me."

Your best friend's gaze swivels from him to you and back. "You should tell him," she declares.

"Say it a little louder, would you?" you hiss sarcastically. "I don't think they heard you in Jersey." She laughs. "I'm serious," she says, though it's in a hushed whisper this time as she pulls you closer by the arm. "You've liked him for forever. And judging by the way he's looking at you in that outfit," her voice dips into a sing-song tone as she slurs, "he likes you too."

Rolling your eyes, you shove her shoulder gently. "Shut up, Bea, you know he doesn't think of me that way." you huff, and a smirk crosses her face as she stands abruptly.

"Whatever you say. I'm gonna grab some food," she says, stretching. "You want anything?"

You shake your head, but she pouts. "Y/N, you skipped lunch, too," she protests.

"Yeah, because I had to make up that test for Mr. Dewar. I ate after school," you explain. You're not lying; you don't do that anymore. You're better now. Or at least, you're trying.

But Becca, drunk, doesn't seem to see it that way. "Are you trying to stop eating again?" She makes a poor attempt at a whisper. "Because you know it's not good for you." She sounds like a scolding parent, and a few pairs of eyes around the room drift over to you.

Stop staring, you plead mentally, your insides squirming under their gazes. "Bea," you say through gritted teeth, "I'm fine, okay? Drop it."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself!" She's loud. Too loud. Heads swivel in your direction.

People are looking at you. Everyone's looking at you. I'm fine, you want to scream. It's over. Nothing's wrong with me.

But their eyes linger.

You feel like it's freshman year all over again, and you're collapsing on the gym floor and the nurse is bending over you and saying something about malnourishment and everyone is staring at you and you can't breathe. And suddenly, you're back to being the object of gossip and stolen glances and whispers in the hallway when they think you aren't listening-- she's that anorexic girl, the one who was fat until she starved herself.

You have to remind yourself that you're here and not there, that this is a party and you're supposed to be having fun but instead you're trying to remember how you're supposed to breathe.

In, out. In, out.

Right. Easy.

So why can't you seem to catch a breath?

It takes you a minute to realize that your hands are shaking and that Becca's still talking, although you aren't really listening anymore.

You mutter some excuse and slip out of the room; she tries to call out to you but you can't seem to get to the back door fast enough.

The grass is wet. The air is humid and cool and heavy with the smell of rain, the sharp contrast to the heat inside hitting you as you step into the yard, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket and trying to shove the taste of bile back down your throat.

The smell of alcohol lingers on your clothes and you can still feel the bass from inside; you wonder for a moment what you're doing here, when a book and a warm blanket seems like such a nice alternative.

Oh right, you think to yourself. I was trying to be normal, for one night.

Normal. You've spent the last eight months trying to get back there. Talking to doctors, therapists, guidance counselors, anyone who thinks they can help. You remember the before picture of it all, when you were scared and angry and you hated yourself, and now you feel the exact same way and you think that maybe you haven't come all that far.

"Why did you do it?" the counselor asks, sincere concern lacing her words. "You have such a beautiful body, can't you see that?"

You try to laugh, but think you might cry instead as you looked up at her. "Have you ever been to high school?"

She gives you the look, the one you've come to know all-too-well, that mixture of pity and disappointment that seems to be etched on everyone's faces these days. You want to tell her to stop, that you don't want her pity, that you might feel a lot better if everyone would just quit looking at you that way--

"--re you okay?"

Surprised, your head snaps towards him immediately. You didn't even notice him come out. But Peter's standing there, concern in those deep brown eyes and one hand running through his brown hair nervously.

You open your mouth, tempted to say you're fine, that there's nothing for him to worry about. But as you look at him, you feel a bit of your resolve wear away. At first, you're not sure why, but then, you think, it's Peter, the geeky science nerd you've known for years, exchanging study guides and making cheesy science jokes from the back of the classroom and maybe falling a little in love along the way. It's Peter, so instead of lying you shake your head. "Not really, no," you breathe.

"You're not...are you still..." he trails, like he doesn't quite know how to phrase the question.

Your choice of words, however, is more blunt. "I'm not starving myself anymore, if that's what you mean. I haven't done that in a long time."

Peter looks at you for a long time, as though trying to figure out whether or not you're lying, and then gives you a slow nod as he leans against the wall next to you. "What happened in there?" he asks quietly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Nothing." You drop your gaze, refusing to meet his eyes. If you do, you think you might break into tears.

"Y/N, you can talk to me."

Sighing slowly, you glare at the ground. "I just...I couldn't breathe. I--everyone was staring at us. I didn't want to-to stay in there and let them gawk at me like I was some animal in a zoo. Like I was some..." you grit your teeth, voice shaking, "some beast that they were looking at through glass."

He hesitates, and then, sounding shocked, "Is that how you feel?"

Part of you wishes he would leave, so he wouldn't see you cry. "That's how I've always felt, Peter. Why--" You shudder as your voice breaks. "Why do you think I did this?" You look up at him, blinking tears out of bloodshot eyes. Slowly, you sink into the grass, ignoring the fact that the rainwater is seeping through your tights, and draw your knees to your chest.

He doesn't say anything, just kneels next to you and holds you in his arms when you finally break into shaking sobs, your breath stuttering as you try to hold them back. But you don't think there's any part of you that can fight it anymore, and the tears just fall in a torrent of frustration that you haven't let go of in far too long. The saltwater streaks down your face and soaks his hoodie, and he runs his fingers through your hair, hugging you against his chest and resting his chin on your forehead.

"I'm sorry," you hiccup when the sobs finally slow, your voice muffled by his body.

Peter shakes his head. "Don't be sorry," he murmurs. "You don't deserve to feel this way."

"Maybe I do."

"You don't." His voice is insistent as he cups your cheek with his hands. "You don't deserve this. You're beautiful." He sounds...honest. You meet his eyes, and sincerity is all you can see. Something inside of you swells. "I haven't...no one's ever said that to me." "They should." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I don't hold just anyone as their tears totally soak my favorite shirt, you know," he teases.

A watery chuckle escapes your lips, and he grins, looking a little proud of himself.

"I guess it's a good thing I wore waterproof mascara," you joke, wiping the wet tracks away from your face with a sleeve and sniffling. It earns you a laugh.

"Do you...want me to walk you home?" he offers as you pick yourself off the ground.

You shake your head. "I think I'll stay a while. Someone's got to keep Becca from making a total fool out of herself," you say, taking a deep breath to compose yourself and then starting to walk towards the party.

He chuckles. "I'll stay for a while, too, then. But, uh, Y/N? One more thing." "Yeah?" You turn around.

A flash of nerves crosses his face before his hand wraps around your waist, the other one resting in your hair, and he kisses you. It's soft and sweet and his lips taste better than anything you've ever forced yourself not to eat, and it's Peter and your heart's never soared this high and you think he might just be the person to fix you.

[noahromeroarchives]

But even if we won't admit it to ourselves, We'll walk upon these streets and think of little else. [x]

Noah realized he hadn’t actually had a destination in mind when he and Lia had parted ways. His classes were over, and he was here with his knapsack, still in uniform. The chances of him visiting the common room in the next few hours were extremely slim-- Lia had been headed in that general direction, and he was hardly about to take the chance of appearing in the midst of whatever she was going through. His nerves were too shot to even consider starting on his class work, so he adjusted course from the library, which was across the castle from the Gryffindor Tower and made for the outdoors. Stuffing his robes into the bag, Noah found an empty courtyard and settled onto the stone steps there. He gave himself a moment to listen to the burbling of the fountain as he packed his cigarettes absently against his palm. This wasn’t sitting right with him. He hadn’t expected it to, but today’s wordless farewell had left him with a sense of apprehension he was unfamiliar with. The cigarette hung unlit from his lips for almost a full minute of mute reflection before he could be bothered to light it.

By the time Noah made his way into his dormitory after a few hours in solitude at the library, nearly all of Gryffindor was silent. Whatever was looming at the bottom of his bed gave him a moment’s pause, and he drew close to find a neat stack of sweaters. His sweaters. The quiet seemed to ring in Noah’s ears. Too-quiet. There was no note, no indication that she had even returned the clothing herself, but the finality of it seemed to hit Noah like a bludger to the chest. That was that, accounts were settled, there wasn’t a reason for him to contact her. He placed the sweaters into his trunk, unusually finicky about keeping them as pristine as he’d found them. Figuring it was too late now to put any real thought into it, he tried to get some sleep. Noah stared awake for hours instead, mind unhelpfully flashing through scenario after scenario. Himself apologizing as they stood outside Politics, time turning back in order to do so. Apologizing when he saw her next, or pointedly waiting for her in the common room tomorrow morning so they would have a chance to talk. Even have a blowout fight if they had to, just to clarify precisely what the return of his sweaters meant. He’d known even when he had pretended even to himself that this was just another squabble that would blow over. He knew what it meant when every breath seemed to ache.

Noah would have had to be blind in order to not notice the way his classmates had taken to watching his every move. The abrupt end of Noah and Lia was apparently far more interesting than anything else a fully-restored magical castle and surrounding grounds could possibly offer. There were one or two brave souls who attempted to coerce information out of Noah, though even he couldn’t see why. He had never been a conversationalist, and the fact that he stonewalled each and every question or wayward comment about Lia-- however indirect-- meant that people were quick to keep their inquiries and their opinions to themselves. Even after his own staunch refusal before, Noah found himself disturbing the unspoken seating chart of Politics. Lewis had moved to sit beside him next class, and Noah silently packed up his things and relocated. That sense of guilt last class had become some grim sense of deja vu, and Noah would be damned if he felt it ever again. Lewis seemed to pick up on his intentions, and although she still worked with him in class, didn’t attempt to sit with him again. No one had to ask why Noah felt the need to be left alone. He wasn’t entirely sure that he had an opinion on the matter to voice in the first place, only really identifying a restless sort of curiosity that had him taking note of everyone who was in a room when he entered it. It was partially hopeful, but another part really seemed to want to be miserable. The biggest change he noticed was how much quieter things were. He had time to study and even get in some extra play with the chess club. He tried to pretend it didn’t make him feel lonely. Grace had reached out once, businesslike. The brief conversation left Noah feeling simultaneously better and worse, which he figured sounded about right. His birthday was uneventful, but Noah wouldn’t have had it any other way. Rowan Goode had rather tartly informed him over breakfast one day that Lia was having a party for her birthday, and he could come if he so chose-- Lia certainly didn’t care. Noah had no choice but to accept that as a gracious invitation, but found himself staying in that night. His roommates stumbled home from the party, drunker than skunks. He told himself he’d made a good decision because of how much studying he was able to get done, but the reality that seeing Lia and being drunk seemed like such a lethal combination he was not yet ready to face. He was apparently not yet ready to face her at all, right up until their Defense exam. Halfway through his essay about the Patronus charm, he’d been letting his gaze wander throughout the hall as his mind groped desperately for some word when he settled on Lia. Her shoulders were hunched and she was scribbling furiously away at her own exam. They were seated a few desks apart, with Lia staggered forward. Her hair was up and it caught the sunshine that fell from the high windows. It was an unfortunate time to be reminded that he missed the way she smelled. She was angled just right, so that Noah’s eyes could follow the slope of her nose, the way her lips twisted thoughtfully to the side. The proctor cleared his throat and gave Noah a mistrustful look. Small favor that it wasn’t her who’d seen him just staring like an idiot. Feeling his neck generate enough heat to warm a muggle home all winter, Noah’s chin ducked and he returned to his own essay. He tried very hard not to make any sort of eye contact right up until he arrived at Kings Cross, although being home wasn’t exactly a reprieve.

He had been dreading coming home. Taking a chance on something that had been so uncertain really wasn’t his style and even mentioning a girlfriend to his parents didn’t seem like something Noah would ever do. Now there wasn’t a girlfriend in the picture, Noah still suspected that would be a conversation, too. He shouldn’t have worried. Noah had a new sister to meet, after all. There was a literal precious infant to draw attention from the fact that he was more reserved than usual. He had to suppose Piper was even cute in her own terrifying way. It took Noah nearly a full week to even attempt to hold her. The experience was one he considered on par with defusing a bomb-- you seemed to get used to it.He was convinced he’d given his parents the slip, until, of course, his father cornered him days before Noah was due at his mother’s. “You shouldn’t keep everything all tucked away inside you,” his father advised, guessing rather than being told just what had gone wrong. “Having someone around to open up to can’t be all bad, can it?” Noah, unsurprisingly, didn’t offer any sort of answer to that. By the time he got to his mother’s house, Noah sorely wished for something to do. Half the summer was over, and it really looked like no one was looking to hire seasonal workers mid-season. His was convinced the remainder of the holiday would be spent being largely bored out of his mind, until he was rather forcibly recruited by a cherubic librarian to shelve books at the library. The quiet suited him, and the Dewey Decimal System was straightforward, but didn’t leave him a lot of time to let his mind wander. No Head Boy badge arrived, just his supply list for seventh year, and the fact of it didn’t bother Noah as much as it would have a few months ago. His drive in that line of his life had tapered off significantly. It really wasn’t worth how much he would have had to give in order to show up Cheshire, and even now Noah wasn’t sure they were even still friends.

Noah couldn’t remember a time where he wasn’t excited to go back to school. This year packing his trunk did feel more like a chore than anything else. He told himself there were a multitude of factors involved. He had almost no new materials for his classes. Being halfway through his NEWTs, his classes had been finalized last year and most of the work was just continuing from where they’d stopped. He was already dreading both the courseload and the work that would be waiting for him as a prefect. The student body had quadrupled over the summer, meaning he’d be responsible for that many more patrols. There was nostalgia, too, since it would be his final year. It was hard to get excited about something drawing to an end, wasn’t it? His mother took him to Kings Cross, but only after a breakfast in town in lieu of walking him all the way to the train platform. Neither one of them was big on dramatic goodbyes, so this arrangement suited them both admirably. “Noah! Hi!” His head turned reflexively to the redhead who seemed to appear at his elbow. Dangerously close to it, Noah reflected absently as he thanked himself for not elbowing Lewis full in the face. That’d be a scene he didn’t need, no matter how many passersby were capable of a quick episkey. “Hey, Lewis. What’s up?” Noah asked, taking a step to the side to put the preferred amount of space between himself and the Ravenclaw. He scanned the teeming crowd as she answered, knowing exactly who he was looking for though he was hard-pressed to say why. “...Did you have a nice holiday? I wouldn’t know, since you didn’t call me.” Noah’s brows knit for a moment, focusing on Lewis only to find she had inched a bit closer again. Lia hadn’t been so far off the mark after all. That really sucked. He took another step back, starting the appropriate mental gymnastics to explain why he’d never bothered to call someone he had no interest in. And then his gaze hooked on that familiar face. A deep breath in didn’t do much to remedy the fact that the entire train station felt airless. Noah’s hand lifted to rub absently against his solar plexus. Not a physical ache, he knew, but he could try. Lia drew closer and he felt rather than saw his unwanted companion’s head tilt to assess Lia, and then him, and Lia again. Lewis began to address Lia with the confidence of someone who clearly didn’t care if they lived or died, only to be interrupted mid-greeting. “Piss off.” Noah stared impassively back as Lia strode past. Not surprising in the slightest, but still more subdued than he’d been expecting. He took the opportunity to offer a weak ‘what can you do?’ shrug as a farewell and put some distance between himself and Lewis. He was on the train for want of something to do, managing to direct a few startled looking first years before stowing his belongings in the Prefects’ car. It was fairly deserted-- everyone had people to see before being stowed away for a whole ride’s worth of meetings. Noah didn’t mind the quiet, having discovered he wasn’t in a sociable mood.

[infinitehouseofbooksya]

REVEAL - Project Emerjence

Today Jamie Zakian and Month9Books are revealing the cover and first chapter for PROJECT EMERGENCE which releases March 14, 2017! Check out the gorgeous cover and enter to be one of the first readers to receive a eGalley!!

A quick note from the author:

I’ve always dreamed of writing an epic sci-fi thriller. I knew I wanted it to involve a group of teens leaving a dead Earth to start new lives on a terra formed Mars, but I didn’t have any ideas on how to make the plot exciting. Then, a song I never heard before played on my Pandora app. Escape by Rogue. As that song blasted through my headphones, the entire story that is Project Emergence streamed through my mind like a movie trailer. So, I went straight to work. It took months of frantic writing, almost a year of editing, and a mini rewrite, but that moment of inspiration became my first YA novel.

Project Emergence is a fast-paced thrill ride across the stars. It shows the extent people will go to uphold their beliefs, and that love can overcome any evil.

On to the reveal! 

Title: PROJECT EMERGENCE

Author: Jamie Zakian

Pub. Date: March 14, 2017

Publisher: Month9Books

Format: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 292

Find it: Goodreads | Amazon | B&N | TBD

An ancient Hopi myth says people arrived on tiny silver pods that fell from the sky.

But the truth is far more terrifying.

Two-hundred fifty-eight teens are sent from a dying Earth to a terraformed Mars as part of the Emergence Program, mankind’s last hope before solar flares finish off their planet and species. Among the brave pioneers are sixteen-year-old Joey Westen and her twin brother, Jesse.

After only minutes in space, something triggers a total ship lock down.

With the help of their roommates, the Matsuda twins (notorious hackers and shady secret-keepers), Joey and Jesse stumble onto an extremist plot to sabotage the Emergence Program.

But Joey and Jesse didn’t travel to the deepest pits of space and leave their mother behind to be picked off in a high-tech tin can. They’ll lie, hack, and even kill to survive the voyage and make it to Mars.

Excerpt

Chapter One Joey stared out the window of a large, airtight van. The nose of a spaceship peeked above maroon-crested hills, and her forehead thumped against the glass. A light crinkle drew her stare, right to the paper wrinkling in her grip. She loosened her stiff fingers, smoothing a crease from the official seal of the Unified Nations of Earth. The letter in her hand still mesmerized her. Selected, Terraformed Mars, New home, those words knocked the bottom from her stomach every time she read them. Things were getting way too real. No more tiny lead-lined home, school time at the kitchen table, mom. She turned to Jesse, her brother’s smirk brighter than an X1 flare. “You’re a crappy twin. I’m freaking out right now, you should be too.” Jesse rolled his stare her way. “Fraternal twins don’t work like that.” “That’s not true.” She read the letter again, making sure both their names were listed for the umpteenth time. “I can’t believe this is happening.” Jesse squirmed, frowning a moment before his perma-smile returned. “No one from G-Sector ever goes anywhere.” “Did you see the look on mom’s face when we left?” “I know. Buzzkill.” “What’s she gonna do without us?” “Finally be able to feed herself,” Jesse snickered. Joey shook her head, folding the letter. “Maybe she’ll win the next lottery, meet up with us on Mars.” “Yeah, I don’t think so.” “Why not?” Jesse leaned close, keeping his voice low. “Didn’t you hear what that kid behind us was saying?” “No. What?” “He said there are no random drawings.” Jesse eyed the soldier stationed at the front of the van, then the other two at the rear. “That everyone is selected for a specific purpose.” “But, that would mean the U.N.E. is lying to everyone,” Joey said, a bit too loud. Jesse’s eyes opened wide, and she shrugged. “You’re gonna get us booted from this ride before we even launch.” “Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s a stupid idea anyway ‘cause look, we’re here. What do we have to offer? All you can do is fix stuff, and me … well, I’m just good at being cute.” She batted her eyes, flaunting a sly smile. “Yeah you’re right, that’s real flippin cute.” Jesse slanted toward the aisle, glancing around the cab. “There aren’t any adults on this van.” “There’s the soldier guys.” “Geez R-tard, I mean the passengers.” Joey pinched her brother, who wriggled away. “R-tard,” she mimicked. With a failed attempt to appear casual, she popped her head up and scanned the many seats. Sparkly clothes and bright makeup captured her stare. “They look like A-Sectors.” So lavish but she could see beyond the illusion of glittering threads and flawless skin, to the same excited fear that dwelled in her own eyes. “Please remain seated while the vehicle’s in motion,” a soldier thundered. Jesse grabbed Joey’s arm, pulling her down into the seat. “Smooth sister, real smooth.” She shrank back, initiating her trusty get-out-of-messes frowny smile. “Oops. In trouble already, figures.” Grumbles erupted from her brother’s lips, and she turned back to the dusty earth outside her window. Crazy how one day, and a trip to the mailbox, could change her entire life. Yesterday, she was painting a mural of Mars on their bedroom wall. Today, she was going to Mars. The parched countryside vanished behind a tunnel’s wall. She sagged down in her seat. For sixteen years, she clung to Jesse. Every time dust storms pelted their windowless metal house, she curled under his arm. Mom worked late and her hand became glued to his. And now, when she actually needed the comfort of his touch, her brain decided it’s time to man-up. Her eyes narrowed. She zeroed in on his cozy looking hand, her fingers drumming a steady beat on her leg. *** Sabrina poked her head around a corner. Her fingers tightened around a rifle’s grip as she peered down a dim corridor. Shadows danced along the concrete wall and she backed up, pressing her comms button. “Stone to dispatch, come in dispatch.” Static crackled in her ear, a garbled voice cutting in and out. “Dispatch, do you read? Where the hell is my back-up?” This time, only the fizz of dead air replied. “Damn underground bright-out dens,” she mumbled. These missions twisted her gut every time. There were very few people left alive on Earth. Many couldn’t afford specially designed homes or the rising cost of oxygen, and it didn’t sit right to bust folks just for trying to survive the scorching sun. Although, as a captain of the Unified Nations of Earth, she had a duty to her planet. Neither a heavy conscience nor lack of back-up would hinder that. Sabrina held her weapon close, skulking down the stone passage. Two men strolled around the bend, stopping short and she popped off two rounds. No sound emitted from the gun’s muzzle, just a flash that lit the graffiti-stained walls in white. The men slumped to the floor. Tiny darts protruded from their chests, pamphlets spilling from their limp hands. “Earth-heads,” she muttered, glimpsing anti-Mars propaganda. A clink of metal echoed to her left and she headed toward it. Men and woman dropped as Sabrina skated through shadows. Their tranquilized bodies slapped concrete, leading a trail to a solid door at the end of the long hallway. She reached into her vest, extracting a small explosive charge. Just as the magnet clinked to the steel slab, a voice sputtered into her earpiece. “Captain Stone, we’ve breeched the airlock. En route to your position.” “Bout time,” she muttered. Her thumb glided overtop the button of a wireless detonator and spikes of fear burrowed into her gut. U.N.E protocol, the whirl in her stomach, her brain required to wait for back-up. Pride, however, was a persistent little sucker, one that set loose a torrent of electric shocks to course freely in her veins. She scurried back, covered her head, and pressed the button. An explosion rocked her chest, slamming her against the wall. Hunks of concrete crashed down, and the door slammed atop the rubble. Sabrina swung her rifle dead ahead. Adrenaline perked her lips into a smile as she charged through wisps of smoke, firing upon every body that lunged her way. “This is a raid of the U.N.E., get down on the ground.” Soldiers flooded the doorway behind her and she dropped her grin. A woman needed an iron-clad stare amid this troop of grunts. “Took you guys long enough.” She turned, stumbling back as the five-stars of a General gleamed in her eyes. “Sir,” she roared, standing up straight. “Captain Stone, I need you to come with me.” Sabrina glanced around, as much as one could without moving a single muscle in their neck. Her men cleared the room as a smaller group, with much larger guns, crowded around her. “Am I in trouble sir?” “Quite the contrary, Captain. You’ve been selected for an important mission. You’re going to Mars, soldier.” *** Joey grabbed her brother’s hand the instant he climbed off the van’s step. Her attempt to play the tough-guy had gone on long enough. People shuffled all around the wide-open room, probably watching her act like a baby, but she couldn’t let go. Fear stole her will. It could have been the towering room of glass walls and silver beams that encompassed her, the barrage of strange faces, or the fact that she’d never see her mother again, but gloom tainted this moment. A soft voice streamed from a kiosk of video screens, repeating the Space Center’s famed slogan–Three days on the state-of-the-art R23 shuttle, strolling through green grass, swimming in cool oceans. Everything she memorized from the letter in her backpack. “Look, there’s check-in,” Jesse said, tugging her from the display of white sand beaches. She inched through the crowd, close to his side. They filed into a rowdy line, her palm sweating against his skin. “The Westen twins, I presume,” a high-pitched voice trilled from behind them. In one swift move, she shook free from Jesse’s grasp and whirled around. An ultra-posh, Asian girl leered down and Joey stood tall. Her eyes wandered to the near identical boy at her side, bearing the same long jet-black hair. Another set of twins. “How did you know our name?” Jesse asked. Joey nudged his arm, pulling his gaze from the low cut of the girl’s sparkly shirt. “We know the names of all the twins on this ship,” she said, her hand hoisting to her hip. “First and last,” the boy added. Joey stifled a chuckle. Twins who finished each other’s sentences, this trip was going to be stellar. The line shuffled forward, and the small group edged up a few paces. “How many twins are on this flight?” Jesse asked, glancing between the pair. “Fourteen, including us,” she replied. “Well fourteen sets,” the boy corrected, turning to his sister. “That actually makes twenty-eight twins.” “But twins is plural, so it would be fourteen,” she argued, a hint of red flaring her cheeks. “Yeah, but, you knew who we were,” Joey said. “We didn’t even know there were other twins here. Is there like, a manual we didn’t get or something.” The girl laughed, slapping her brother’s chest. A stealthy glare clouded her delicate features as she leaned in. “We hacked the database.” “We hack everything,” the boy whispered. “Cool,” Joey drawled, glancing to Jesse. “So you must be Jesse,” the girl said, staring at Joey, “Short for Jessica, right?” “Ahh no,” Joey sputtered. “I’m Joey. Short for Josephine, which I hate so … just Joey.” “I’m Jesse, which … isn’t short for anything.” Jesse shoved his hands into his pockets, his gaze falling down. “Ahem, the line is moving,” a red headed girl groaned. They all crept forward again, and then Jesse spun back around. “So are we supposed to hack to find out your names?” The girl giggled, and Joey’s eyes rolled. Her stare landed on the boy’s annoyed face, and they both grinned. “Kami Matsuda.” A rainbow of colors reflected off the girl’s clothes as she slinked closer to Jesse, looking up into his eyes. “That’s Rai,” she said, nodding to her brother but keeping her deep gaze. Jesse gulped. His hands began to tremble, and it became painfully obvious at how fast his breath flowed. “Next in line.” “That’s us,” Joey chirped. She all but ripped Jesse from Kami’s leer. “We’ll catch up with ya.” It took quite a massive tug, but she finally got Jesse moving toward the registration table. “Now who’s smooth, dorkus,” she whispered. *** “Let me get this straight, Mr. Winslow,” Sabrina said, only able to mask a fraction of the edge in her tone, “you want me to be a glorified babysitter for a bunch of teens in space?” She turned from a wall of windows, which ran from floor to ceiling. Her boots sank into lush carpet as she strolled past stone statues, one of which lost its arm somewhere along the way. Such extravagance. If it were liquidated and spread out, every sector could afford a giant dome to protect its people from radioactive air; instead of just the A-Sectors. She tore her gaze from art-adorned walls, catching an impatient glare from the man behind a glossy wooden desk. “The situation on our hands goes far beyond babysitting, Captain Stone. We’re under attack. The commander of the U.N.E. herself assured me you were the best of the best.” “Commander Sun said that? Huh.” She stepped closer. The man before her strained to appear confident, but she glimpsed the beads of sweat that trickle between his dark wrinkled skin and white hair. “You’ve got my attention,” she said, cupping her hands behind her back. “Of course you understand, every word spoken within this room stays within this room.” “Yes sir.” “Ever since the inception of the Emergence program, a group of fanatics have targeted us. Are you familiar with the Earthisum Movement, Captain Stone?” “Yes sir. I took out an underground lair of them this morning. They seem to be, for the most part, harmless.” “Perhaps on the outside.” He pulled a brown folder from his drawer, placing it on his desk. “Have a look.” Sabrina flipped open the cover, scanning the pages. When she read a handwritten letter, which appeared to be scrawled in blood, her fingers actually shook. “The threats made in that manifesto were not empty.” Her head snapped up, and she gawked at the old man before regaining her composure. “Are you saying, the Earth-heads blew up your first flight to Mars?” His finely manicured fingers massaged his forehead, a ghostly shade of white claiming his cheeks. “Yes, after only hours in space.” He dropped his stare and muttered, “The second and third flights as well.” “What?” “Those maniacs sabotage every Spacebus we launch. None have successfully made the voyage to Mars.” “How could you hide this from the public? They think people are living, flourishing over there. You need to put a hold on this program. Now. I’ll need at least a week to investigate.” His head shook, and Sabrina slammed her hands on the desk. “That file says there are two-hundred and fifty-eight children walking onto that shuttle as we speak, Mr. Winslow. Two-hundred and fifty-eight lives you’re putting at risk.” “If we stop the program, they’ve won. No! The survival of the human race is too important. This mission has to succeed, Captain Stone.” “But why now, with kids? If what you’re telling me is true, Mars is empty. There are no doctors, scientists, or security of any kind in place. They’ll eat each other alive out there.” “It has to be them.” He rose from his seat, smoothed a crease on his pinstriped lapel, and strolled to the window. “Those young adults were born in the year of the massive solar flare.” While gazing out the lightly-tinted glass, he motioned for Sabrina to join him. “I don’t see why that matters.” As she approached, the doublewide spacecraft stole her focus. She allowed her stare to fuse with the gleam of curved metal, sharp points of thin wings, before shifting her eyes to the man beside her. “They’re genetically predisposed to elevated radiation, since … I handpicked each one of them—for their instincts, spark, and their odds of producing healthy offspring.” “Look, I get that. But, if you just postpone a few weeks I can—” “Earth only has a few weeks left, Captain Stone.” His voice quavered. He cleared his throat, lifting his chin high. “The sun is set to flare in, approximately, ten days. The space program predicts its intensity will surpass our classification scale. Moments, and everything left above the surface will be eradicated. Not even the UV-dome of A-Sector can deflect these waves.” Sabrina gasped. She began to stagger back, but Winslow grabbed her arm. “Captain Stone, Sabrina. Look down there, at those children.” Her legs wobbled for the first time in her memory, but she crept forward. People hurried along a glass-encased walkway, far below, like tiny ants marching into a trap. “That’s the future of mankind down there. If they don’t make it to Mars, our species will cease to exist. You have to get them to that planet safely. You’re the last hope of humanity, Captain Stone.”

Jamie Zakian is a full-time writer who consumes the written word as equally as oxygen. Living in South Jersey with her husband and rowdy family, she enjoys farming, archery, and blazing new trails on her 4wd quad, when not writing of course. She aspires to one day write at least one novel in every genre of fiction.

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