#and all of the edges on the brushes are pixelated as FUCK. like everything is so fuckin pixel-y it's so ugly I hate it

[mosspapi]

The free trial of clip studio paint is such BULLSHIT man. What the fuck do you mean I can't save any files until I buy it. How am I supposed to trial the goddamn thing if I have to do everything in one sitting. I have never once had a free trial do this shit in my life. Idc how good the program is that's just fucking bullshit dude

[sanctus-ingenium]

I was wondering how achieve such a wonderful textured finish on your pieces? They are wonderful and I love their resemblance to aged photographs and the speckles of colors in the backgrounds. Your art is mesmerizing :)

you can see some of the texture brush sets i use in my #info_asks tag but i have some more (procreate) tips aside from just brushes

also hi i made this whole thing and then stupidly hit ctrl z to erase ONE word and i lost the entire bottom half of the post and all my image descriptions so fuck you tumblr i had to make this twice

to get a faded photo or old digital screen look, consider duplicating the canvas (once all the layers are merged) and using a gaussian blur tool on the new duplicated layer. then set that to low opacity to add a misty sort of look. looks nice in combination with some chromatic abberation and a small bloom effect. then a subtle noise filter on top:

for faded print effects, it's really worthwhile to learn how to use layer masks. you can use a layer mask to non-destructively 'weather' blocks of colour or lineart, without erasing the layer itself. the weathered ink/block print effect here was made using layer masks which means that if i just hide the mask, the lineart becomes solid black again and easy to alter or colour in:

for old paper effects you can just set a paper texture on multiply over the art sure, but you can also combine it with the blur & bloom thing, a really subtle drop shadow and canvas tilt, and highlights to make it look like an aged photograph of a card. this originally had a transparent bg but i'll post it here with a white bg so that the drop shadow is more obvious. the scuffed edges of the card (left) were hand drawn, simple white stucco brush. the bigger patch of scuffed ink (top right) was a texture stamp.

for block print looks you can move the colour layer out of alignment by a few pixels - but only after you're absolutely sure you're done with it, otherwise you'll get something like this -

i forgot to erase out her eye before i moved the red layer so now her eye defeats the 'look' of a misaligned print. the black lineart and red layer were also given the same layer mask treatment as described above to make them look faded or like the ink didn't stick down right to the paper

you can do this with multiple colour layers too. if the colour layers are separated and set to multiply (as in this cmyk example), it'll leave halos and edges around each shape which mimic old comic book print

just to show what you can do WITHOUT any special brushes, here's a piece of one of my mez tarot cards from before i got any extra brushsets at all. for this one, i added a green tint over everything to mimic a sun-bleached or faded print (my actual goal wasn't 'medieval illustration' but actually 'trading card from the 60s that got left on someone's windowsill for decades'). the background texture is the procreate noise brush. the texture under the green lion drawing is the procreate concrete brush (to make it look painted onto a wall). the lettering and lineart is procreate's 6B pencil. but to properly aim for The Look of it being a printed physical object, i also used a perspective blur so that the edges are out of focus, and metallic gold highlights which don't match the lighting of the actual illustration and appear to be catching some other external light. that texture was made from the procreate noise brush

it's pretty simple compared to my later stuff but i still really like the effect

in terms of colours, you need to keep them unified so that they all appear to be acting under the same external light source, like if someone is holding up a torch to a painting then the painting colours will be glazed with firelight even if there's no painted fire. a really easy way to do this is to slap a multiply layer over everything in one shade - grey-yellow for a weathered paper look, or greenish blue for sunbleached photos. this unifies all the colours of the drawing. or you can apply a gradient map at a low opacity so that there's only a subtle change. or just do it by hand - if you want everything to be slightly tinted yellow, just pick the colours you normally would, but move the colour wheel towards yellow to get a yellowfied version of the base colour. easy

it's really important to consider how fading and weathering can affect printed colour. white paper yellows, black fades. you will rarely see pure black or pure white. which means you can use pure black or pure white to add external effects like the white scuff marks on the hierophant card. if the whole drawing is yellowed from age but there's some white somewhere, it's an easy shorthand to show that the scuff mark or whatever was not originally part of the drawing (great way to add some nasty stains lol)

[nightmare-castle]

I kinda lied. This is another smaller update, because...

*cries silently*

Ahem - for some reason ClipStudio Paint did not like my old GPU. I fought and struggled with it for a year - sometimes it would display the correct resolution of an image, sometimes not. Brushes were just straight up broken most of the time. Exporting to any format was a nightmare as it wouldn't preserve quality. And forget anti-aliasing. It was either jagged edges or blur.

So when I managed to finally get everything colored and put into Live2D Cubism, it was a fucking mess, to say the least. Small mistakes or lack of quality is amplified a hundredfold in Live2D, and needless to say, with poor quality, incorrectly rendered files coming out of CSP when animated looked like hot flaming pixel garbage.

You can see the difference in the screenshot above, where I've opened the sketch image for Nightmare's sprite redesign from CSP into Medibang. All that shitty blurry worthless detritus is CSP, and the smoother lines drawn over are in Medibang. These two files are the same canvas size (4500 x 7200) and resolution (350ppi). The difference is ridiculous. I have a new GPU in a completely new PC now, and CSP works correctly more often but not always with my new hardware. So I'm abandoning it completely. Which sucks, because I did upgrade to 2.0 EX and paid for it. Waste of money and time.

So what does this mean for the game? It means I have to do all of the sprites over. Again. Which is a huge setback and so, so many hours of work. Each of these sprites, while I only have to do the art once for each, is extremely tedious with a zillion layers per sprite with all the little details and articulated pieces separated out. And then I have to go back into Live2D and re-map these new sprites to the animations, test everything, implement them in Unity, replacing all of those old sprites, reworking the code, testing, testing, and testing some more.

So it's gonna be a minute before I can do that big juicy update I wanna do to show off all the redesigned elements of the game. BUT IT'S GOIN', Y'ALL. Slowly but surely. We're getting it done.

also yes he no longer has the stupid jacket his emo phase is over he grew up and put on an old man sweater you're welcome

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

for your eyes only || h. styles

warnings: swearing, references to drugs

word count: 2.5k

summary: harry is feeling the pressure of making his new album...

You were already in bed by the time Harry got home. Though still awake, your eyes were heavy and your body ached for rest. But you’d never been able to sleep without knowing Harry was safe at home. 

The slamming of the front door echoed through your house. You listened silently as he hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes. You heard him wander into the kitchen, turn on the tap and pour himself a glass of water. After a couple of minutes, he ventured upstairs, heading straight into the bathroom. He began brushing his teeth. 

All the while, you stared out the window of your bedroom. It looked out onto the London streets, dimly lit by the street lights. The bedroom was dark, only illuminated slightly by the outside sky and all of its stars and the moon. 

Harry had been at the studio all day. He’d been stressing about writing his new album. He had started coming home late and leaving early. You barely saw him anymore. You always left him some leftovers in the fridge for him to eat when he got in or take for his lunch. Every time you tried to ask him if he was okay or if he needed to take a break, he’d just shrug you off and tell you he was fine. 

You’d seen a similar thing when he was making his first album, but it was never as bad as this. You’d seen it when he was trying to finish Watermelon Sugar, but it was never as bad as this. 

You felt the bed sink beside you, which consequently woke your cat, who was sleeping at the bottom of your bed. His name was Podge. Rolling over to face Harry, you smiled softly at him. You wanted to be angry at him for never telling you where he was anymore or prioritising his album over your relationship, but you just couldn’t be. You always knew where he was. He went to the studio all day and then would go back to Sarah and Mitch’s for a bit during the evening. “How are you?” he whispered, wrapping his arm around your body.

“Tired,” you replied, squeezing him tightly.

He pressed his lips lazily to the top of your head. You smiled at the feeling of his touch. “Go to sleep then,” he mumbled. 

“But I haven’t seen you today. And I won’t see you tomorrow,” you sighed. “I just miss you. And I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, love. You know I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

You sat up, turning back to him. He frowned, propping himself up against the headboard. “That’s the thing. I don’t think you would tell me.”

“What? Where did you get that idea?” 

“Well, you never told me when you were making your first album. You never told me when you were trying to finish Watermelon Sugar. You don’t have a great track record of being transparent when it comes to telling me when you’re not okay,” you explained. “Instead, all you do is come home and go to sleep. Then you wake up before me to get to the studio early. And even when you finish at the studio, you go back to Sarah and Mitch’s. She’s fucking pregnant, Harry, give them some time alone.”

He sat there and took it like a small child being scolded by his mother. He played with his fingers as you tried not to shout. You both knew it would only be a matter of time before you broke and all your feelings would come pouring out. 

The sound of Podge whining at the bottom of the bed interrupted your heated rant. He plodded his way up to the two of you, settling in between you both. He often did that. He’d clamber up to the top of the bed to sleep between your bodies when everyone was comfortable.

Harry reached down to run his hand along Podge’s soft back. You sighed, throwing the covers off your legs. “I’m going to get a drink,” you told him as you left him alone in the bedroom. 

He watched you leave. He didn’t call out or beg for your forgiveness. That was never how arguments were handled in your relationship. He sighed, getting comfortable in bed again, waiting for your return. The sound of Podge purring was enough to calm his nerves as he listened to you pour yourself a glass of water in the kitchen. He listened carefully as you walked around a bit, before he heard the back door open and close. 

You often went outside to take a moment to collect your thoughts whenever you and Harry got into an argument. Harry knew this. 

You set your glass down as you sat down on the bench against the wall. The fabric was cold against your thighs. You looked up at the bedroom window, wondering whether Harry was contemplating everything you’d said or if he was comfortably falling asleep. 

Harry waited for you to return. You never did. You’d gone to sleep in the spare bedroom. The two of you were too tired to take it too further tonight. So, you both slept, knowing tomorrow would either be full of shouting and tears of frustration or pettiness. 

However, when Harry woke in the morning, he climbed out of bed to apologise to you. Podge followed after him, his claws loud on the floor. But you were gone. The bed in the spare bedroom was made. He slowly made his way down to the kitchen, his nerves getting the better of him. Had you really left? 

There was a note on the kitchen counter by the bowl of fruit. ‘GONE OUT FOR BREAKFAST WITH GEM’. Harry looked over at the clock on the wall. It was thirteen minutes past nine. But he didn’t know when you’d written the note. He quietly poured himself a glass of orange juice and buttered some toast. He went out into the back garden, sitting down in the very spot you’d sat in a few hours earlier. 

The weather was nice. The sky was blue and there was a moderate breeze in the air. His phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up to reveal the picture of you he had set as his lock screen. Your slightly pixelated smile was electric through the screen as you cradled Podge in your arms when he was just a kitten. 

The notification was from Mitch. He couldn’t make it to the studio. Harry replied quickly, telling him it wasn’t a problem. It was Saturday anyway. Granted, Harry could probably do with a day off. But, even when he lay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing, he was still working.

That was the trouble with making an album: it plays on your mind until it’s finally out in the hands of the public. More so, Harry noticed, with his solo albums. And that was why Harry seemed to spend every waking moment in the studio. He figured that he might as well be in an environment where he can turn his epiphanies into harmonies.

He heard the front door open and close. You were home. Harry finished the remnants of his orange juice. Podge appeared in the doorway, rubbing his head along on the edge of the threshold. Shortly after, you followed. You were standing in the doorway, shuffling awkwardly. “Not going to the studio today?” you asked, sitting down opposite him. 

He shrugged, “Might do. It’s still early yet.”

You nodded. There was no pettiness. There was no shouting. There was just silence with intervals of small talk. Harry watched you as you fiddled with your fingers, your knee bouncing. You were nervous, he could tell. “How was Gemma?” he asked. 

“She was great,” you replied. “Asked how you were.”

“Yeah? What did you tell her?”

“I said you were fine,” you shrugged. “Just busy with the album.”

He nodded slowly, “Right.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up straight. You felt Podge run his body along your leg beneath the table. “What? Was I wrong to say that?” you asked, worrying that you’d done something wrong. 

He shook his head quickly, “No, no.”

Harry didn’t say anything more. He was closed off. There was something he wasn’t telling you. You’d been with Harry long enough to know this. Usually, he was quite open with you. He told you what felt like everything. But this never applied to his music. His job. You and his job were two separate things. He made that explicitly clear from the very beginning. You were never to get mixed up with his music and his music was never to get mixed up with you. The line between the two was never blurred. 

But this meant he hardly ever told you when he was struggling or when he felt like he needed a break from it all. You only ever heard songs when they were finished. You only ever saw music videos when they were complete. You had only ever been to one awards show with him - the 2020 Brits. You had never even seen the inside of the studio. You had only met his band on a handful of occasions, all of which had been on nights out or for celebratory dinners, never when they were rehearsing. 

It was like he was leading two lives. 

“You are okay, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “Sure. Just a bit stressed.”

You sighed, exasperated, “You always say that! Every time I ask if you’re doing alright, you just shrug and tell me you’re ‘a bit stressed’. Harry, ‘a bit stressed’ isn’t spending every day at the studio. It isn’t spending all night at the piano, trying to get a song just right. It isn’t constantly comparing yourself to other artists, trying to work out what worked for them and what didn’t. It isn’t getting high every time you fuck something up. It isn’t acting like you have no life outside of the music you make.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a life outside of the music I make. Don’t you get it? I’ve dreamed of this my entire life. I reached the top with the band. And once you’ve had a taste of what it’s like to own the fucking world, everything you do becomes about trying to get there again. It’s like a fucking drug. When it’s been in your system once, it lives there forever and you can’t stop thinking about it. You crave it,” he snapped. You winced as you watched him become so worked up, tears of frustration falling down his cheeks. He dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands harshly. 

It took you a moment to absorb everything Harry had said. Last night, it had only been a matter of time before you’d broken. Today, it had only been a matter of time since Harry broke. You were sick of it. Harry was sick of it. You let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly as his words registered, “I don’t know if you need to hear this from me. I don’t know if anyone has ever actually said this to you. But you’ll never be as big as the band.”

Harry looked up, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked offended. As anyone would be, you supposed. “What?” he squeaked out. 

“I know it’s brutal. And I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but you’re never going to be as big as the band. And it’s shit, Harry, I know. But you’re a fifth of that band. Some fans left with Liam, and some left with Zayn, and some left with Louis, and some left with Niall. And some left with you. And some left with all five of you. But the point is you’re missing four of the components you had when you owned the world. That band was fucking massive, Harry.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. You didn’t expect him to. You’d said all you felt you needed to say to him. And, while you knew you’d never be able to relate to exactly how Harry was feeling, you’d seen the devastating consequences stardom has on a person. You pressed on, “You owned the fucking world, Harry. But you owned it with four other guys. And I don’t think you could do it on your own.”

He sighed, nodding, “It’s just hard.”

“I know, baby. But it won’t get easier if you just don’t stop. You need to step back from this toxic mindset you’ve got yourself into. You literally just won a Grammy, give yourself a break,” you said. 

“That’s the point. I won a Grammy for Watermelon Sugar. What if I can’t make that again?” he sighed.

“Harry, you’ll never be able to make it again. Surely that’s the beauty of it all, right? Nobody wants to hear you put out another Watermelon Sugar. I can guarantee your fans would be happy to listen to what you want to make,” you said. 

It felt so foreign to be talking to Harry about these kinds of things. You’d reassured him and given him advice on all sorts, but never about the music industry. That was his area of expertise. But spending time with Gemma always put you in some sort of healthy frame of mind.

You reached across the table to squeeze his hand. There was no way you could still be angry at Harry for spending so much time away from the house. He wiped away the stray tears that clung to his cheeks. He reached down to cuddle Podge, who’d jumped up onto the bench at some point or another. “Thanks,” he said quietly, finally looking you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for getting so worked up over this. It’s so pathetic.”

“Don’t apologise, H. I love you and I’m always gonna be here for you. Please don’t be embarrassed about these things. I’ll never judge you for being emotional,” you smiled softly. 

“You’re too good for me,” he said, grinning across at you. 

You leaned back in your chair, shrugging, “Probably. I do think of this relationship as more of charity work.”

He laughed, “You’re so selfless!”

“I know! What can I say, some heroes don’t wear capes,” you smirked. 

It was moments like these, with the sun beaming down at the two of you, that you’d missed. Harry was smiling again. It felt like something you hadn’t seen for weeks. 

The truth was, Harry had always found it easier to express his feelings through the art of music. And, while this posed many benefits for him, it meant that, when he was trapped with writer’s block, he found it difficult to free himself of the burdening stresses of his industry. 

You got to your feet, extending your hand to Harry, “Come on, you’ve not had a shower for days. You stink.”

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia Ch 20

You find yourself in a forest

Odd when did you get here? Had you walked here? Driven? You...you can't seem to remember. How on Earth did you get here?

(The contents of this chapter are sexual in nature please don’t interact if you are below the age of 18)

Oh Gods you hoped you didn't have an episode while driving again. Even under normal circumstances just the thought upsets you but after finding out Toby's life changing accident the thought now left an acidic taste in your mouth. Similar to when you're sick and have the residual vomit in your mouth no matter how many times you brush your teeth. A very unpleasant experience.

A tall figure looms in the distance taking you out of your musings. You've seen him before, haven't you? Long spindly tendrils stretch out from behind the figure, much like the whisps that led you through the shop the other day. Had it not been for their serpent like movements you'd have thought the being was just another tree in this dense dark forest.

This sure didn't look like the Monongahela. You close your eyes for a moment, just resting your eyes. Your head feels so foggy right now.

You're so tired too, have you been sleeping? When was the last time you slept? Why can't you remember?

It's fine calm down, you just need to think. The fog is so thick, it's hard to focus. Why can't you just focus?

Come on YN, you need to focus, focus, focus!

In an instant that figure is right in front of you. They are so much taller, craning your head back doesn't do much to get a good look at them. You can't make any features out on the shockingly pale face. And here you thought Toby was deathly pale, you may as well have been staring death in the face.  Given the black suit and red tie you might actually be.

Being dead would explain the fogginess of your memories and why things aren't exactly connecting. Had Toby killed you? No, he wouldn't. Maybe the two of you got into an accident on the drive home.

But where's Toby then? Had he survived the crash? Is it bad to hope he's dead too? That boy wouldn't be able to handle another traumatic event. Hell he seemed one major inconvenience away from peacing out when you'd met him, he still has those moments.

Where are you going to go? This wasn't anything like you were expecting, but the again Hollywood's never given you any sort of accuracy before why would they be the ones reporting on life's biggest mystery?

A tendril slips its way around your throat tilting your head up to stare into the pale face of the figure before you. Squeezing as it does, gently not so much to actually suffocate you.

'You are not dead child, you could not be further from it.' a masculine voice echos in the empty space of you mind. The voice rang so clearly it rattled the walls of your brain.

A literal 'brain goes brrrr' moment.

If you aren't dead then...this has to be a dream. The only other explanation for why everything feels so fuzzy and you have so much brain fog.

'Correct, you are in a dream...of sorts. I've summoned you here to review your progress thus far. I must say you've far exceeded my expectations, no thanks to my failing puppet.' the tendril tightens around your neck, again not enough to choke you out. Just a very firm squeeze.

Firm enough that it has you pressing your thighs together. Haven't you taken care of this yet? This situation is so embarrassing because even though you can't see the expression of the being before you they have an omnipotent air around them.

They sense your hunger building, maybe that's why the appendage around your throat tightens once again. You're left a bit breathless.

'I'm very pleased with both of your results. A reward is in order,'

The figure's head moves slightly as their attention shifts to something behind you.

'I believe he'll benefit from this as well.'

He?

Without a moment to think anything else, not like you could in your current state, you were turned around. Where you came face to face with....another faceless entity? No the man in front of you clearly had a face – had the tall pale being not? The man's face was there but you couldn't really make out what you were looking at like it was pixelated in some way to protect his identity on the evening news.

You could see that he had a mop of brunette waves, unlike the tall one who was to your knowledge completely bald. More tendrils wrap themselves around you, on your legs and around your mid section. Legs are spread apart as you're lifted off the ground.

Open and inviting to the form before you. Just what kind of reward is this?

Before you can protest you quickly become aware of the fact that you are naked.. Bare chest on display as nipples harden in the chill of the air. You squirm to try and get away but the hold the tendrils have is too strong for you to break out of. Your legs are lifted until they are face level with the person in front of you.

Yup totally a dream, just a monster fucker having a wet dream. Normal everyday thing.

'To be quite honest it's less of a reward and more a test. But it should prove enjoyable for both of you.'

Hearing the sound of a zipper you freeze, out of shock rather than fear. You were joking when you'd called this a sex dream. You've never had one before and it's surprising to say the least. Do all sex dreams start this strangely?

A pair of fingers find their way to your mouth. Without thinking you opened up and took them in. Letting them go as far back as they could. They played with your tongue, dancing up and down it. Pressing hard here giving a rub there, shoving it between the two of them making sure your saliva coated every single spare centimeter of them.

You found it a bit difficult to breathe around them let alone swallow. They had a salty with a hint of something metallic, like he had an open paper cut. The texture was rough and very different from your own fingers, you could feel divots near the nail bed and loose hardened skin scrapping the inside of your mouth. Sometimes when you swallowed around the fingers you'd get a sharp thrust in return, like he was trying to hit the back of your throat with only his fingers. You nearly took in his pinkie like this. A harsh groan would follow and you'd moan along.

All the tendrils on your body gave a light squeeze at the show. You heard a whisper of 'Good pets.', this time it was echoed through the forest surrounding you.

“Fuck off.” the man who currently had his fingers nearly reaching down your throat growled out.

Before he he gently grabbed on of your legs, moving your body closer to him. Flutters of lips trailed their way up from your knee to your inner thigh. A playful nip stings a few inches from your core. Involuntarily your thighs press together, squishing the head in between the,. It wasn't long before you felt warm breath blow onto your core. You could hardly keep back the trill when a pair of lips wrapped around your clit and a tongue started to dance circles around it. It was a simple set of motions but ones that seemed to hit just right. You didn't know whether to be thankful or hate the tendrils for preventing you from bucking right into the pleasure.

Taking deep breaths to collect yourself didn't work if anything it made for a pseudo pant which left you even more feverish than the lapping at you clit. He flattens his tongue against you and you shudder as he slowly drags it along your slit giving a flick to the hood of you clit. He angled his tongue so he could carefully dance that line between your clit and it's hood. Toes curling you aren't able to contain yourself anymore. A panting and flushed mess as you moan around his fingers, a trail of saliva runs out from the corner of your mouth and down the expanse of your neck. You can't stop your hips as they weakly buck towards him, still stifled by the tendrils stilling them.

The man between your legs stiffens.

Even with him looking right up at you, you can't see past whatever fog is playing at your mind, but you do know that he's just as much of a mess as you are in the moment. Just from going down on you, the poor boy, now you really want to shove his face deep between your legs and not let up until he can't breathe.

Maybe you can.

Your hands haven't been bound like your legs, so you should have no problem grabbing his hair and pulling him in.

'Oh, he'd like that very much. Give it a go pet.' the disembodied voice says, once again in your head.

Wasn't there a body to go with that voice earlier? Yeah, there was, where'd he go?

Your legs are still bound by the tendrils but the tall man is no where in sight anymore. What a strange dream.

A wet dream you remember as your focus returns to the man between your legs. Might as well make the most of it.

The man seems distracted as he glares at something behind you, but you know nothing it there – you've just checked. This gives you the perfect opportunity to grab a fist full of his hair and drag him back down to your puffy lips to finish what he started. He was more than willing as he needed no further instructions and went straight to giving light kitten licks to your aching clit. Frustrated pants and whimpers leave you as he just works you up and pulls back. He's teasing at this point and seems very pleased with himself.

“Pl-please.” you keen  when he pulls away for a second time. Instead of answering your plea he massages the meat of your thighs as he stares up at you from between your leg. You can see one hand in between his own legs most likely toying with his cock like he toys with you.

Just the thought of his cock has you bucking into him, but it seems to do the trick. He begins to suck on your bud again. This time you have a bit more mobility and can grind your hips down in time to his sucking. It's getting wetter and sloppier down there by the second, like he's trying to collect all the liquid in his mouth but can't really hold it there.

For a third time the pleasure stops, and you feel like crying. It's so unfair your first wet dream and you're saddled with an edger.

You let out a whimper and raise your hips again in a pathetic attempt to demand his attention back to where it's needed. While his face is still featureless to you there's a sense of smugness around him. Oh joy a sadist. A harsh spit rings through your dream bubble. But you don't feel anything land on you.

A wet squelching sound can be heard. The blood just doesn't know where to go anymore, to your face or to your core? Clearly none of it's going to your brain when you only thought it , 'Oh shit he's jerking off.' on repeat.

You're very thankful that the tendrils are just holding you up instead of keeping you spread now as you're able to squeeze and rub your thighs together. Trying to get any friction to alleviate your ache. All while you cry and choke around thick fingers.

“Pretty mouse.” his voice is a rumbled timber.

Fingers press harshly into your tongue before slowly pulling out and spreading you legs back open for him. His thumb trails your inner thigh, the nail scratching the unmarked skin as it went. Making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as he let out a breathy chuckle.

He began toying around with your folds with his two spit soaked fingers, “Yea, li-ike that? Make some more pretty noises for me.” His fingers twirled around the entrance of your pussy. Lighting the nerves on fire with each passing circle they made.

Gods, he hasn't even been in you and you're already about to cum. But he was ignoring your clit now. Snaking a hand down you settle it above his and before you can even touch it he's smacking your hand away.

“Nuh-uh mouse.” he gives a sharp smack to your bud, making you jolt as you let out a little 'eep'.

He laughs at your reaction, “Don't worry I'm going to-to-to make you feel so good.” he smirks, “in time.”

That'd be a no for you. You can take three edgings but four is just asking too much, especially for a dream. You aren't one to be bratty often but you're already pent up in the waking world like hell you'll let yourself be edged in the dream one too.

“Fuck you're cute, even when you pout.” suddenly a hand grasps your jaw and pulls you down, it's a bit uncomfortable with your bindings still in place. Your faces are just inches apart right now and you still have no clue who he's supposed to be but sometimes faces are hard for brains to make up. He could just be someone you saw in town once and don't remember.

He leans in and kisses you. It doesn't take anything for you to open your mouth and let him in, there's a hint of tang on his tongue. No discernible taste just a bit of tang. He makes sure to glide his tongue across every inch of your mouth, making sure you taste yourself. You can feel his smirk in the kiss as you moan. Can feel the pumping of his hand on his cock now that you're so close together.

The thought of his cock makes your core pulse with need. And as if he can read your thoughts he pulls away, leaving you panting and horny. “Now that's a cute look too.” The tip of his middle and ring fingers are in you spreading the ring of your entrance far apart. “But then this on-one's my favorite.”

As you writhe and moan you can't help but think of how much you hate that boyish lilt in his tone right now. He scissors his fingers and twists them this way and that, occasionally plunging them as deep into you as they can go. And while your panting and whimpers are lovely he quickly figures out that you're much more receptive to the teasing of your entrance. The way just the tips of his fingers work in lighting up hundreds of nerve endings.

How he can leave you right on the edge of orgasm only to take that away by pulling out slightly or diving in further. It's a good game, but he eventually grows bored of just your facial expressions and wants to chase his own release. So, he leans in towards your core to watch the way your walls clamp down on his finger tips as they spread you apart. Trying to squeeze around the foreign objects to eject them out but if he surges his hand forward the walls constrict in a way the feels like they are trying to suck him deeper into your depth. All the while you moan and whine, just for him.

So enraptured with your being he isn't really paying attention to you anymore. You want to end his teasing, you just want to cum. It's not surprising at all that he hardly noticed you grabbed a fist full of his hair. But he certainly notices when you pull him to your core and hold him in place. The pressure on his scalp letting him know just how tightly you have him.

There's a moment when he does nothing, just stares up at you from between you legs. Through hooded eyes he continues to make eye contact as he brings his mouth to your clit, even as you buck into him.

“Good boy.” the words just tumbled from your mouth in a moan.

One that gets echoed by the man kneeling before you. It's a needy little moan, one that changes things.

“Good boy,” he goes faster, not just on your clit but he also starts stroking himself faster.

“Ah – aaah, good  boys wai-it oh – wait to cum.” his hand slows and you hear a mumbled 'Good boys wait.' causing your grip to tighten as you pull him up by his hair to look into your face – even if you can't see his.

“Did I tell you to stop?”

“N-no!” you can feel the shiver that runs through him.

Big guy isn't so tough now that you found his kink, damn this dream sure is exploring a lot of your owns though.

“That's right, now you've been awfully naughty. Edging me like that. Doesn't seem like you want to be a 'good boy'.”

“I want to – want to be a good boy, very good boy.” his hand is still going, you'd honestly be surprised he hadn't cum if this weren't a dream.

“Hmm, finish what you started. Then...maybe you'll be my good boy.” a series of moans followed as he bucked into his hand. Apparently you'd said a trigger for him and he came just from that alone.

You want to find it in you to play up being upset with him maybe even play up how he wasn't a good boy after all – cumming like that. But you could tell from the way his shoulders sank in that he felt ashamed that he didn't last until you were done with him.

Sometimes a gentle hand is needed. “Oh my poor baby. I didn't know how excited that'd make you.” you cup his face gently. He's trying to make himself smaller. “Now now of that, you can make it up to me.” He perks up.

“You want to make it up to me right?” you slide back away letting you hands fall off his chin, and he follows your movement leaning to feel your touch again.

You give him a smile and stroke his cheek, “Then make me cum.” it was a breathy whisper as you took the opening to initiate a kiss with him. No tongue was involved this time just an urgent need and movement of lips.

You pull away from him and get a small whimper in return. Pay back would sure be sweet right now had he not riled you up this much then got off himself.

He's sliding back down between your legs, barely giving himself a chance to settle in before twirling his fingers just outside your entrance. Face diving to lick several long stripes along your slit.

'Seems everything is in order here. I trust you both will behave in my absence.'

“What?”

Waking up horny and unsatisfied with the fainest memory of your wet dream fading further and further from memory was definitely one way to start your Saturday. But it wasn't the preferable way or a fun one. Especially when it involved a pair of soaking panties and an hour to even satiate your needy pussy.

[chip-foster]

this will get ugly  //  self

“Are you coming back?”

The interviews were always difficult to watch. Maybe it was the bizarre clothing, or maybe it was the statements that objected to everything he’d seen of some tributes in the last few days. He almost envied the tributes who could lie so easily, somehow seem both threatening and endearing at the same time. He’d seen them all, though. He’d tuned up the simulation stations so they were easier to navigate, and he’d watched from afar as they cut down pixelations. Most of it was over cameras, because his attention was required elsewhere. 

It’d been over two years now. Two years and he hadn’t burned out like a lot of new recruits. Over two years, and he was no longer working on half as many red herrings. He knew the arena would be an ancient town for at least three months before launch. 

So as much as he could, he watched from afar during training. Watching over cameras to make sure no one fucked with the technology in the training center too much. The same consoles that he used to fiddle with like they were toys were now viewed as prized possessions. Only he was allowed to fuck with them. Aside from updates on the simulations some tributes wanted in their skills presentations, he had very little contact with the tributes this year. It was better that way.

Especially when they were plastered in makeup, dressed up in chiffon, and sent out to talk to Calix. He didn’t want to see the tributes from Three in their interview. He’d successfully avoided them for over three days, he could continue that now. But every television in the Tower was tuned into the interview. He had no desire to go home. Evie and Paslee left that morning on the first train to Three, an agreement decided upon in the last few Games with Belle that it was best for Evie to be away. Easier to control what she saw, either on television or in her uncle’s tired eyes when he came home. 

Chip knew every television in the HQ would be tuned to the interviews, too. The psych department would be taking notes with each second that passed, and they would be feeding information along to supervisors for adjustments. He walked from bar to cafe to bar to lounge, and everywhere he looked, a tribute was seated across from Calix Crystal. Absolutely insane, really, that this was the last “pleasant” memory afforded to the families of tributes watching. He couldn’t pretend to be that mad about it, really. He just selfishly didn’t want to see.

He descended in the elevator this time. The training center was brightly lit, still, but there was no one there that he could see. Outside the elevator, he used his keycard to open a Gamemakers Only door and took a winding flight of stairs. The room overseeing the training center was brightly lit, too. It had been cleaned up nearly entirely since the presentations, but there were a couple glasses of wine that he spotted tucked discreetly behind a cushioned chair. More like left, and just out of view of Avoxes who weren’t allowed through the Gamemaker entrance. 

Chip hadn’t been asked to attend the skills presentations this year. It was usually just an occasional courtesy. They would randomly invite a couple people from the fringes of tech and landscaping and agriculture to help weigh in on presentations that weren’t so obviously impressive. 

He walked to the glass at the edge of the viewing area, the tip of his nose cool as it barely brushed the window. He wondered if someone from the tech team had been in the room during his skills presentations. His eyes easily traced the pattern of small explosions and sparks he’d set off once upon a time. He could’ve done better. He could’ve placed a dummy within the line of fire, or built a more complex trap. But he was eighteen, and he was stupid. He had no idea what was to come.

Chip shoved his hands in his pocket, looking around the various television screens in the room to see they were all dark. The interviews never lasted long, so he was certain by the time he left the room and got back up the elevator, he’d have missed all the District Three tributes had to offer. He ran a hand over the top of his hat as he walked toward the door, turning his head to the side. To see the wine glasses. 

They were still there. They’d likely been there for over a day. 

Chip’s knuckles went white as he clutched the doorknob. He’d never liked wine, anyway. It always tasted like vinegar to him, but it’d never stopped him.

Did it still taste that way? He could take a taste. Sommeliers did it all the time, and just spit it back out in a bucket. There was no bucket around, but a few drops, or a few sips, wouldn’t do anything. 

He let go of the knob, and walked to take a seat in the cushioned chair. He tapped one foot agains the floor, then another. He finally pulled his hands from his pockets and reached back. He took only half a sip before he spit the red wine back into the glass. It tasted awful. He reached behind him for the other glass and stood up, placing them both in obvious view on a coffee table. He should go.

But he took a sip. And awfulness aside, he hadn’t swallowed, had he? He’d always preferred beer, something with a little more body, with a little more fizz that almost resembled a soda. It was best that he tried a sip of wine first, really. To show he hated it. To show he could try it, though, too. To show he wasn’t eighteen anymore, that maybe with age, with time, with wisdom, he could have a drink. Just one drink, now and then. It was such an important part of the Capitol social scene, to just go for a drink. Such an important part of life in Three, to go to a friend’s house and crack open a cheap beer to talk shit about an employer.

Chip kept his eyes on the training center as he approached the mini fridge against a wall. When he opened it, there were several bottles of champagne inside. He closed it, headed for the door, and backtracked. Champagne was for a celebration, and this was a celebration. All the bullshit he’d overcome, this was a perfect reason for champagne. Just a glass, though, he reasoned as he used a key to tear off the foil. Liquor, beer, wine, had never been the real problem, after all. Just something he swore off. Gotta twist this wire shit off. This was different. Pop. Just one glass. 

It was easier to swallow than the red wine, but the fizz reached his nose. He squeezed his nostrils and walked back toward the window, looking down over the training center. It was remarkable, really, how despite all the changes above ground, this place stayed the same. They updated it every year, of course, but he wondered if it really looked all that different from some of the earliest Games. Sleeker, most likely, and shinier, but had weapons really advanced that much? When was the last time someone invented a new patented object to kill someone with?

He forgot how small champagne glasses were. It had to only be about four ounces, at most, with all the fizziness of the drink. Hardly the equivalent of a real drink, even a single drink. He poured another glass and turned on the nearest television. It flickered to life, and Calix Crystal’s face was the first he saw. He sat back on the arm of a sofa and watched as another tribute came out. The carbonation hardly bothered him as he gulped down the second glass. He waited, impatiently, until at least the next tribute’s interview to pour another glass. 

A jolt went through his elbow as he used it to lean against the door to the staircase, but it was easily ignored as he paused, refilled his glass, and then very carefully went down the stairs. He pressed his thumb over the top of the champagne bottle and used the weighted bottom of the glass to push open the door to the training center. As the door closed behind him, he took a long gulp from the champagne flute. He was drinking from a glass, much more controlled than he’d ever been before. After not drinking for so long, he’d probably have a hangover after finishing this bottle of champagne, but that was just a fun complaint of life. Oh, I’m so hungover. Like it was nothing. It was nothing. He’d just drink water once he got home, and have an extra cup of coffee before his launch shift. That was all it took, right? For everyone else? Why couldn’t he be like everyone else?

He topped off his glass and set the champagne bottle down very, very carefully in a trash can. Flute still in hand, he took a lap around the training center. He touched nothing, just looked at it all with a critical gaze. Noted where things needed unnecessary improvements, like he was the mastermind who would truly change how tributes trained for the Hunger Games. For the Games he thought he was doing something to end, but he hadn’t done enough. Because his foot was always out the door; out the door on the rebellion, on Three, on the Capitol, on this job, on his sobriety, on Evie.

Leaves. He’d scattered leaves across the ground, and put small bombs and sparkers all underneath. How fucking understated, considering what he could’ve done. 

Chip took a long sip from the flute, and turned his gaze from a ball of wires to the rack of knives. He approached, taking a couple more sips in the time it took him to close the space. The large blades were still immensely intimidating, but there was a small survival knife that caught his attention. He shifted the glass into his left hand and picked up the knife. He could not clearly make out his own reflection in the blade, but he could make out the silhouette of every person he could cut through with it.

And he could feel nothing. Finally, it was back. 

As a child, he’d been sent to several different psychiatrists and therapists. They’d said a lot of words that didn’t make sense to his young mind. A few stood out, though. Intelligent, naturally, stuck to his ego. Shy, like anyone needed confirmation. 

Empath. It didn’t make sense, and it made every bit of sense. It explained every lack of expression, or emotion, behind his gestures and tone. He was hiding, because everyone else was so easy to read, so easy to take in. The world was all just a math problem, after all. The warm smile minus the blank eyes minus the sagging posture minutes the back-handed compliment equalled a total lack of approval, of support. It was all so easy, to see facial features, posture, and hear tone, and put it all together into a formula that equated to an unspoken emotion, an emotion that, according to order of operations, affected him last. 

He felt Seraphina die first. He wanted to know why, and he dug in. All problems have a root calculation. If one dug deep enough, they could surely find where Chip’s formula met Sera’s, met Freyja’s, met Perl’s, met Vidia’s. If they just got to the core of the problem, that would solve everything. 

But who the fuck wanted Chip Foster solved?

The knife was returned to its spot on the rack. Chip finished his drink, and hung the flute ever so carefully on a few spare hooks. He needed to go home, to his house that was now empty, and relax and drink water and recover. He found his way up the elevator, and out to a cab, and said something to the driver, and then was somewhere more familiar than his own new home. Champagne tended to end him up here, so he gave in to old desires. This was controlled. This was just to say hello to old friends, and then head home. Maybe have one more drink, but that was it. The world was starting to get a little less concise, a little less upright, and he shouldn’t push it. 

Because it was different this time.

Until the bouncer didn’t recognize him. He recognized the face as a victor’s face, and so Chip was let in, but there was no celebration, no grand welcome that he’d been expecting. A few steps into the club and he could feel his heartbeat eager to be in tandem with the bass. No one’s head turned at his entrance, as he’d expected. His cheeks went pink, not like anyone could see under the dark lights of the club. A bartender he didn’t recognize asked what he was having, and he told her a water. He needed a water, so he asked for it. He could have something that wasn’t liquor, even in this insanely uncomfortable scenario.

Then the manager came out from her office. Chip intentionally or not, who knew how he was acting now, was right in her line of vision. He saw the smile, and he smiled back, finally relaxed. Finally relieved. Finally fucking seen. He didn’t even ask, but a whiskey ginger was placed in front of him within sixty-seven seconds. He counted. He was always fucking counting, it came to him like breathing.

“Nothing’s changed.”

Chip was about to take a sip from his new cocktail but let the glass fall back to the bar suddenly, splashing whiskey and ginger all all over his hand. “I-I-”

“Shut up. You know.”

Chip only gave a slight nod, eyes drifting to his periphery as he took a long, long sip of his drink. He forgot how easy every liquor was to drink once it was mixed with soda. But he’d only have one. And he’d only look once at the stage, and the chairs on the edges where dancers were getting personal with clients. He didn’t recognize most of them, and quickly turned his attention away when he thought one looked at him. He finished off his drink, and waved down the manager to ask for his bill. He paused, and asked for another drink.

He didn’t recognize most of the dancers, but he recognized one. He was already standing when the manager slid him the fresh drink. One sip, and he tasted more whiskey than ginger ale. He swallowed down a gag, and kept walking. He took a seat on the side of the stage, consistently sipping on his drink through tiny straws. 

He’d be hungover tomorrow, but that was just part of a stressful work life. He wouldn’t drink again for weeks, probably, at the very least. This was just a final night of fun before the arena. He was fully in control. Alcohol had never really been the problem, anyway.

A money clip always made this easier. He forgot why he got rid of it until now, when he was awkwardly trying to balance his wallet and his drink in his hand. 

She took the wallet. He remembered her favorite ploy, that ended with the wallet tucked back in his pocket. He didn’t protest, sitting so stock still it made the final part of the performance almost impossible. 

“Chip. C’mon?”

Remembered. She remembered him. He knew enough, logically, to know her manager might’ve whispered his name in her ear. Or maybe it was the victory. Or maybe this was the one arena where he’d really been special and notable.

He pressed his elbows into the sides of the chair and pushed his hips up before sliding down more in the chair. “Jewel. C’mon.” 

She mastered that knowing smile, and he knew it. Every ounce of flattery afforded to him in a place like this, he knew was practiced. But that was part of the freedom. To know it was all bullshit but at least he’d be satisfied. He paid her the remaining cash in his wallet for a lapdance, and ordered another drink when the manager came to check on him.

“We still have the VIP room, Mr. Foster.”

“N-Nah, I’m-” He shook his head to deny the offer. He couldn’t afford it with the cash he had. Also, he told himself, he didn’t want it. This was just a night of fun ahead of a few stressful days. He would sleep, go to his next shift, and no one had to know where he was the night before. He’d just have to shower to get the scent off him. And if all it took was a shower, some coffee, and a nap to get him cleared up, well... He could have more fun, right? If everyone else could do it, he could. He was in control of this situation. He knew the actions, and the consequences. And he had room in his schedule for consequences. 

When his money ran out, he only had cigarettes left to burn. He knew the way without direction. Through the bar door, through the kitchen, out to the back alley where he could smoke a cigarette in peace. And he had peace, for just a moment. Until Jewel joined him. He forgot this was technically for workers only.

“It’s almost closing time,” she informed him.

“I’m going home,” he replied, he reasoned, he implied. He said, whatever that really meant. He said a lot of things in the last hour he didn’t concretely recall.

“Really?”

“Really.” 

This was all about control. He could control this. He could keep this, this thing he refused to apply a noun or verb or anything to, and still live his life. He just had to be careful about timing, careful about who saw him. So he would finish the drink still waiting for him at the bar, and he would go home, and he would have a half gallon of water, and he would sleep until his shift. And if he wanted to do this again, he could. On the weekend. Maybe even have another drink, maybe even do a line, maybe even, maybe even, maybe even...

But it really was all so clear. He could be totally in control this time.

Jewel had finished her own cigarette, and was standing with the back door to the club still open. 

“Are you coming back?”

“Yeah.”

[medeafive]

Blood and Stone - 22

Masterpost

"Where'd your friend go?" Tony asks, grabbing the chips. "Turned around and he was gone."

 "I don't know, I'm not his babysitter," Natasha returns, nibbling on a carrot. "Can I ask you something?"

"You mean, whether it's bad when your boyfriend finds out you're pregnant and disappears without a word?" Tony specifies, licking his fingers. "Yeah, it is."

Natasha snorts. "Fuck off, that's not what happened. Who's Lara Croft?"

Tony snorts, dropping onto the couch. "Oh, great, so you just pretend to be asleep the whole time. Do you actually eat or is that also some magic trick?"

"Answer my question, you coward," she returns, picking up cucumber slices.

Tony sighs. "Well, that's not exactly up your alley but- it was one of the last video games that came out, couple of years ago. Nobody really cared, because of vampires and all, but I think it would have fared much better otherwise. She's an archaeologist, but the cool kind, looking for hidden treasures, fighting mummies and tomb raiders- actually, that was the name of the game. Yeah, and she's animated but- she was always wearing tank tops and shorts and all."

"Oh God," Natasha remarks with amusement. "That is horrible ."

"Was just a joke," Tony defends. "Yeah, and the lady from Resident Evil fights vampires, in similar garments. You get the picture."

"Have you ever seen me in shorts ?" Natasha questions. "That's ridiculous. So you were just hitting on me while I was asleep."

"Not that asleep, apparently," Tony points out wistfully. "Nah, just pointing out the archetype, extra tough sexy badass and all. And, well, looks really cool from a distance, not sure it's as cool when you get closer."

"You were totally attracted to me when I got here," Natasha recalls. "But then you tried to set me up with your best friend and- I don't know, I never took it seriously. Also, you were with Pepper and I'm really not a homewrecker."

"So vampires are cool but taken guys aren't?" Tony prompts. "Also, if you'd let yourself be set up, you wouldn't be in this mess."

"Yep, and I'd also be either dead or a vampire right now," Natasha returns. "Doesn't that sound great."

"I think you're well on your way to being dead but Bobbi seems to disagree, so what do I know." Tony rubs his forehead. "But- Barton ?"

Natasha snorts. "You're really blowing this way out of proportion. And don't give me that shit that he's older than me, you're all older than me except for Sharon, and I already got that from the vampire."

"The fuck does he think he can tell you," Tony remarks. "When he's basically a hundred years old."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Natasha returns, picking up another carrot. "I mean, he went pretty hard to our side. A traitor of all vampirekind or whatever."

"You just enjoy making people do radical stuff, don't you?" Tony grins. "Manipulating people, having that power. Don't think Lara Croft was like that."

"Yeah, maybe stop comparing me to pixel women in shorts," she counters. "Just trying not to get killed, thank you very much."

"Hey guys." Bobbi turns the corner, yawning. "How are you? Don't listen to Tony."

"What'd I do to you?" Tony complains.

Bobbi snorts, crossing her arms. "Is he telling you you can't be a hunter? Cause that's what he used to tell me."

"Not true," Tony objects. "I said you weren't ready to be a hunter. And then you went out anyway and promptly got hurt."

Bobbi shrugs. "Learning by doing. Honestly, Pepper would have started going out much earlier if you hadn't told her it's too dangerous."

Natasha follows the exchange with amusement, nibbling on her carrot. "It is dangerous!" Tony defends. "And I built her the suit, don't act like I wasn't supporting her."

"Y'all can't deal with loss, is what I'm saying," Bobbi returns. "You only built her the suit because she was about ready to break up with you. Different kind of loss."

Tony snorts. "You know what, I really didn't miss that argument."

"You guys seem fun," Natasha throws in. "I'm good, by the way."

"Yeah, I actually came down so we could do some prenatal prep," Bobbi replies. "Because you only got two weeks."

"What the fuck is that?" Natasha asks.

Bobbi grins, gliding her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. "Pushing and breathing. Not much more. Certain muscles you need. It's pretty awkward, though, so let's better do it downstairs or somewhere else private."

"I thought you'd just do a C-section," Tony suggests.

"Not if I can avoid it," Bobbi replies. "Not sure we have the equipment for that. Risk of infection, risk of strong bleeding, I'd rather try the vaginal route if it's possible."

"...I'm just gonna keep that joke to myself," Tony suggests.

"Thanks," Bobbi replies. "Very generous of you."

  "Tony said you were doing lady stuff," Pepper remarks, putting her helmet down. "And we want in on that."

"What, you also want prenatal prep?" Bobbi asks, spinning in her chair like she was born in it. "How was patrol? Quiet night?"

"Quite the opposite," Sharon replies, hopping onto a table. "Saw three vampires. One got away. All fledglings, they must have come in from outside town."

"Three?" Natasha repeats with worry. "We haven't seen a single one in weeks ."

"Maybe that was your friend's doing," Pepper suggests, pulling off the shoulder plates. "You should ask him. Where is he, by the way?"

"I don't know, guess he left," Natasha admits. "He'll come back sometime."

She hates how vague that sounds, but she really doesn't know. "He ran into Steve, didn't he?" Sharon suggests. "That probably scared him."

Right. Completely harmless explanation. "Oh, but this is great," Pepper remarks, brushing through her hair. "I haven't met so many friends in a long time."

"Yeah, tell me everything!" Bobbi encourages, giggling. "How are things with Tony?"

"Pretty good," Pepper replies, also leaning against the table. "Really good actually. I still have to kick him once in a while but not as often. So I'm pretty happy."

"Kicking him sounds kind of fun, though," Sharon remarks. "Am I wrong?"

Pepper snorts, crossing her legs. "Sometimes. Mostly, it's annoying."

"Still sounds better than when I left," Bobbi insists, crossing her arms. "Honestly, I wouldn't have bet on you two making it. You know, Tony being Tony. Reason enough to dump him."

"He's really improved!" Pepper returns. "Anyway. What about your new guy?"

Bobbi sighs. "Eh, he's fine. Drives me nuts. In the good ways and the bad ways. But it doesn't have to be perfect and it doesn't have to be forever, so it's fine."

Sharon shrugs. "I don't know. Dating someone you hunt with sounds like a hassle."

"Oh yeah, why not date someone you hunt?" Bobbi interrupts. "Like a vampire?"

Sharon giggles. "Oh, come on! No offense, Natasha."

"No problem," Natasha replies, even though this whole situation freaks her out. Like, what is she supposed to say? She's sitting there, stone-faced, just listening and waiting-

"That has to be really weird, though," Pepper states. "Physically weird. Just their body temperature, and everything they smell… and the fangs!"

Bobbi chuckles. "Why not ask? Hey Nat, come on, we want to hear something."

Shit. "Oh, we won't tell," Sharon promises. "Ladies' room promise."

Natasha groans, rubbing her face. "Fine. The… what was it?"

"Body temperature, fangs, weird dick, anything," Bobbi repeats. "The juicier, the better."

Natasha snorts. "His dick's perfectly normal. Though- nah, I'm not sure I wanna tell you that."

Bobbi groans. "You motherfucking tease."

"That bad?" Sharon encourages, smiling way too nicely.

Urgh, fine, she's gonna die sooner rather than later anyway. "Not bad. Just, he always has two orgasms. One with just a little bit of stimulation and then he's still hard, you know, second orgasm a while later, everything normal. But it's always two."

"Oh my God, tell me more." Bobbi swirls in her chair, crunching up her face. "But he ejaculates both times?"

What an ugly word. "Yeah, but not very much. Anyway, I think that's all the vampire stuff."

"But he's cold, isn't he?" Pepper questions.

Natasha sighs, letting her head drop back against the pillow. "Sometimes. Just, when you touch him, he gets warmer? In the beginning, it took a while but now, he's basically always warm around me, even before I touch him. And softer, too, just more human, you know? And it worked on the other black cloak, too, not just on James. I don't know."

"The fuck," Bobbi remarks. "Just around you? No one else? That's creepy."

"I don't think anyone else really touched him," Sharon throws in. "So we don't know. Maybe it's psychological, you know, because he's only attracted to her."

"Yeah, we should test that," Bobbi suggests. "Just hold his hand for a while, see what happens."

Natasha snorts. "Well, ask him. When he comes back."

There's a knock on the door and it takes them all a moment to realize it's not the door to upstairs but the one in the back. Sharon hops off the table. "Is that the room with the ice block?" Bobbi asks. "Is that where you put him?"

"Steve," Sharon replies tensely. Pepper walks to the door. "Yes."

Pepper pulls the door open. It's indeed Steve, steadied against the wall. He doesn't look good but he never really does. "Hello," Pepper starts in her professional secretary voice. "I think Sam is still asleep but maybe we can help you?"

Steve blinks at them slowly. Sharon's knuckles are white against the edge of the table. "Oh, no, I really don't want to bother you, I don't need anything, just- do you mind if I join you?"

"Oh, sure thing." Bobbi gets up and pushes her chair towards him. "Here, sit down. No need to exhaust yourself."

Steve drops heavily into the chair. "Thank you. Uh, you're… you're not Sharon, are you?"

"Nope," Bobbi replies cheerfully, pointing to her right. "That's Sharon. That's Natasha, that's Pepper and I'm Bobbi. You're Steve."

Steve smiles as soon as he sees Sharon. "Oh, hey. I saw you- I don't know how long ago that was. Maybe a few days?"

Yeah, and he talked to Natasha yesterday but maybe he already forgot that. "Hey," Sharon blurts out. "I'm- Grandma is- I'm Peggy's granddaughter. She's my grandma."

Steve just blinks for a while. "I'm sorry, I'm still- oh, the- Peggy? Peggy Carter? From Britain?"

"Yes!" Sharon exclaims. "Sorry. Well, after the war, she got married and had my mom and- well, my mom had me and here we are, I guess."

Steve smiles again. "Oh, I see the- the resemblance now. Is she- How is she?"

Sharon giggles. "Oh, good. I mean, she's getting old but still holding on as always, you know her. I haven't seen her in a while, though, travel is very difficult."

"Oh, I absolutely remember that," Steve replies. "She was so determined and disciplined and smart, of course- oh, but she has to be very old now, the- what year is it again?"

"She's 78," Sharon says. "It's 1999. December 1999."

"Wow." Steve rubs his swollen red face. "That- I won't get used to that anytime soon."

Bobbi chuckles. "Uh, should we let y'all work that out alone or…?"

Steve turns. "Sorry, Ma'am. Are- You sound Southern."

"Georgia," Bobbi confirms. "But I'm not related to anyone. And I don't live here anymore, normally. Transferred to Florence, Italy."

"Oh, and I talked to you- was that yesterday?" Steve turns to her lying on the bed. "Was- It was Natasha, wasn't it?"

"Yep," Natasha replies. "Still very visibly pregnant, so I guess you won't confuse me."

Steve blushes, remembering. "Right. Is- is Bucky here?"

"No, he left," Natasha tells him. "Guess he needed some space, after running into you."

Steve groans. "Right, sorry. Does- wait, he would remember Peggy, too, wouldn't he?"

"James doesn't remember shit," Natasha returns. "Sorry. Not Peggy, not you, not anything before he turned into a vampire. Maybe it'll come back slowly but not right now."

"That's- unfortunate." Steve sighs. "That's probably why he- well, I guess he doesn't want to see me then."

"Natasha is a little harsh," Sharon admonishes. "I'm sure he'll remember eventually and it'll all work out."

"Yeah, after the vampire baby bullshit, nothing surprises me anymore," Bobbi remarks.

Steve blushes again. "Uh, so- what are you guys doing here? You're not from here, are you?"

"Oh, I'm Czech," Pepper replies. "Little village in Southern Bohemia, near the Austrian border. Came to Prague to get a job, ended up at this American company that was just getting started over here- with a really, let's say, eccentric boss- yes, and then the vampires. Let's say it really didn't go the way I planned."

"I'm Russian," Natasha adds. "Or I was."

"British American," Sharon states.

"But-" Steve coughs. "Pepper?"

"Oh, that's not my actual name," Pepper replies. "It's Jindřiška. But none of you can say that, so Tony called me Pepper and that stuck."

"And Tony is the-" Steve prompts.

"You saw him already, he was working on James' arm yesterday," Natasha remarks.

"He used to be my boss," Pepper explains. "He's sort of an engineer, an inventor. His company, the one he inherited from his father, used to produce weapons but he's moved it to energy production, reactors and the like, all of it renewable. Though it feels like he really worked on everything at some point, just like Bruce."

Steve rubs his temples. "Oh man. Who is Bruce again?"

"Our resident doctor," Bobbi replies. "He's brilliant, really. Fury recruited him. He used to study biochemistry somewhere in Sweden but when you break your arm, he'll fix that, too."

"Bobbi is a doctor, too," Pepper points out.

"Yeah, different kind, though." Bobbi shakes her head. "I got a medical degree, too, but I specialize in women's health. That's actually how I got here, because I volunteered in the early nineties when they didn't have enough experts in that around here, a lot of them had emigrated. Well, the thing is, babies tend to get born in the middle of the night, so I had to make spontaneous visits while the vampires are out in the streets. Clint started to accompany me, to convoy me so I could do my job without getting killed and… yeah, I wanted to be a hunter, too. So now I'm both."

"People really have a lot less babies now," Sharon remarks. "Not the world you want your child to grow up in."

Steve coughs, swallows. "Right. Uh, so… what did you do, before, Sharon?"

"Nothing," Sharon replies, smiling. "Just finished school. I've always been a hunter."

"Oh yeah," Natasha agrees. "Me too."

"Oh, but Natasha is probably the best tracker in the world," Sharon points out. "Really. She's been doing this longer than any of us."

How she wishes she hadn't. Maybe then she wouldn't be so tired from it. Steve looks confused once more. "What's a tracker?"

"That's a kind of hunter, someone who's very good at finding vampires," Sharon explains. "In the early days, they traveled, following specific vampires and hunting them down, but these days, there are just too bloody many. It's still useful, though, on patrols. I'm a tracker, too."

"Well, I think now we've got everyone," Pepper remarks. "Except for Clint, he's the one with the bow-"

"The- sorry for interrupting," Steve interjects. "With the bow ?"

Bobbi snorts. "Yeah, the bow. Gotta say, it's efficient because you only need to make the tip of the arrow out of silver, instead of the whole knife. But mostly, he just likes to be special or he'd use a gun. Oh, we used to date, if you didn't notice already."

"And Fury, of course," Pepper adds. "Fury is- well, Fury. You'll know when you see him. Rumor is he was a CIA agent stationed somewhere in the Eastern Bloc, and he just stayed around after. And this is not the first station he's run. But really, we don't know, he's not one to share."

"Could you- tell me about Sam, too?" Steve asks.

"His parents were from Angola," Bobbi tells him. "He came here very young. His dad was- was it agriculture? I don't know, he was some technical expert. They came here as refugees, from the civil war, and his father went through East Berlin to West Berlin to the US, trying to get a green card there. Of course, that took years, so Sam mostly grew up here. Yeah, and then he moved to the US, joined the Airforce, all that. Came back when vampires were starting to become a thing here."

"Oh yes, he said it- there are more here?" Steve states tentatively. "Vampires, I mean."

"Yeah, it started in Russia," Natasha remarks. "And you can thank your buddy for that."

Bobbi snaps around. "Wait, what?!"

"He told me," Natasha admits. "Schmidt sent him and he bit four people in Moscow, four in Saint Petersburg. Eight in total. There were others sent to other countries but those were the first ones."

"That motherfucker. " Bobbi snorts, crossing her arms. "I'm definitely not holding his hand anymore."

Steve blushes. "Uh, were you going to…?"

"Oh, we thought about doing an experiment," Sharon explains. "We were talking about that, actually, before- Well, vampires are usually cold, you know? But Natasha said her friend's not cold when she touches him, so… we just wanted to find out how that works."

Steve blushes even more, probably every time he's reminded his old buddy-new vampire knocked her up. "Oh. Didn't think about that."

"Only eight people?" Pepper repeats. "Really?"

"He thought that was enough," Natasha replies. "And boy it was."

"Wait, just so I get that right," Steve interjects. "Bucky caused a global vampire epidemic?"

Well, calling him Bucky really doesn't help. "Pretty much. He didn't know much about the others. I should mention there's some form of mind control involved, from a vampire to the vampire that bit them, though not in every case. Schmidt bit all of the black cloaks, so…"

"Mind control, too?" Bobbi snorts. "Oh, fuck that. That's bullshit."

All that cursing doesn't appear to be good for Steve, blushing and coughing. "But we don't really know how that works either, do we?" Sharon adds.

Natasha shakes her head. "Well, that's going to be an issue if Schmidt shows up."

"Uh, why would Schmidt- he's the Nazi vampire, right?" Steve asks. "Why would he show up? And what are black cloaks?"

Bobbi groans, rolling her head. "Oh man, we're going to be here for a long time, aren't we?"

  They don't get a lot further until Steve is so overwhelmed and tired he goes straight back to bed. Natasha eats a huge amount of pasta and then falls asleep quickly. She's always so hungry and so tired now, though it got better with the vampire blood. She wakes when someone sits down on her bed. It's dark. She blinks. Oh, right. The warm stone touches her shoulder. She yawns. "Oh, you're back."

He sighs. "Yeah. Sorry I ran. It wasn't about you."

"He was here," she remarks. "Earlier today. And man, you really have to explain that guy everything ."

He chuckles, rubbing his ear. "Yeah. I don't know, I'll figure it out. I mean, I'll have to, whether I want it or not."

"You'll figure it out," she agrees. "And you don't have to become best friends with him at all, just clear the air a little."

He shrugs. "Somehow, yeah. And… I'm sorry, I'm sure you didn't want that reaction from me, about the pregnancy. You must have hoped I would be happier about it."

She sighs. "I don't know. There's no right way to feel about this. I didn't expect you to cheer for something that was really bad for my health."

He takes her hand and rubs it. "You smell better, by the way. Less dead, more vampire. I- I can't smell the baby, I think."

"Maybe that's part of the vampire smell," she suggests. "Look, I thought about what you said, that you can't really do this, and- it's okay. I still want to have it. You're enough as you are. Just love me, and support me. That's all I need."

He smiles, golden streaks flashing in the dark. "Always. I will try to look forward to it, then."

She snorts, placing his hand on her rounded belly. "Oh, yes. I also look forward to when this is over."

[langdxn]

Hello darling! I was wanting to request a Jim smut where the reader worships his body, kisses him all over, and just gives him all the love and attention he deserves. Like really soft smut! 😩♥️

Nawww soft!Jim needs some love! Thank you for this, anon, I’ve missed writing for Jim so badly ♥️♥️♥️

Rehab changed Jim. 

The ocean hadn’t changed. The waves hadn’t changed. The rocks hadn’t changed. But the boy — the man — perched on them watching the ocean and the waves had developed.

Somehow he accepted the transformation of his personality as an unavoidable part of the process, an altered direction he needed to endure in order to survive.

You were there to show him some normality, show him that not everybody was mad at him for going on the self-destructive path he found himself spiralling down.

You hadn’t volunteered to drive him home from the rehab centre, Jim insisted. His first night away from the clinical insanity, he needed his long term girlfriend by his side. Sleeping in a bed that wasn’t his own, not full of bad memories and temptations, anything that could set him back.

Jim dragged himself weakly through the front door behind you, bracing himself against the walls should the earth crumble beneath him. The beachy blonde slumped his way to your bedroom, bypassing the food and drink you’d laid out for him, his favourite snacks and a collection of surfing magazines if he needed relief. You weren’t to know that said surfing magazines had kept him alive in the clinic, reading them cover to cover, inspecting every pixel of every photo.

His limp body tumbled onto your sheets like a sack of potatoes, limbs sprawled out in the same place they landed. Wandering to the other side of the bed, you perched on the edge to gaze down at him. A few moments of stony silence fell until Jim curled into a foetal position, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, desperately praising their presence.

“Do… do you still love me?” Jim stuttered, pain lacing every syllable that rolled off his tongue. “I’ve been away a long time, you might’ve moved on.”

“Jim, you don’t leave behind the people you love just because they’re going through a tough time.” You reached down to brush an errant curl from his face. “I’ll always love you, surfer boy.”

Straightening his legs and shuffling his hips to make room for you beside him, you led down and mirrored his position, gazing into his oceanic blue eyes just like the first time you saw them.

“I’ll always love you too,” he sighed, raising a trembling arm to ghost a fingertip over your bare arm, tracing the curve of your skin, the outline of your figure highlighted by the sun beaming through your window. Your existence was all he needed when he was in rehab, knowing you were still there and still cared about him kept him going through every monotonous day, every infuriating counselling session, every heartbreaking night sleeping alone.

Jim leaned over to kiss you, tenderly at first, letting out a yearning whimper against your mouth as you melted into him.

“Are you sure, Jim?” You questioned with a palm to his chest. “Isn’t it too soon?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He cupped your cheek and pulled you in to kiss you again, nudging his nose against yours as he closed the gap between you and pressed his chest flush against yours.

“You’re everything to me,” Jim moaned into your mouth, falling into your touch as you hooked a thigh over his and pulled yourself up to straddle his waist without breaking your kiss. Hands passionately weaving through his hair, you lowered your hips onto his, noticing the growing bulge beneath his jeans causing him to whine as you moved.

“Shh, Jim,” you whispered softly. “Let me show you how much you mean to me. Please?”

He nodded weakly, a resigned smile curling his mouth as you traced your lips over his cheek towards his neck, fluttering butterfly kisses wherever you touched. Nibbling his earlobe and painting gentle breaths over his skin, your touch earned a soft hiss from Jim, his hips bucking up against you desperate for friction.

“I need you,” he pleaded in a whisper, both of his hands wandering to pull your shirt over your head and then his own. “I need you so fucking badly.”

“I’m right here, baby boy,” you hummed, lightly raking your nails down his sides as you trailed your lips to his collarbone, pecking into the valley of his sternum while his back arched into you.

“I can’t believe I nearly threw all this away,” Jim shook his head in disbelief, rinsing his face with his hands before entwining his fingers with your hair as you neared his abdomen. “I was such a fucking idiot.”

“Baby,” you halted your light kisses to look up at him, his baby blues blown with lust. “You’re my idiot.”

Jim chuckled and threw his head back into the pillow as your lips dipped into his pelvis, leaving you unsupervised long enough to start sucking at his skin, marking him ever so slightly with the gentlest of blooming red marks.

Reaching the waistband of his jeans, you planted a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on the denim above his straining erection before sweeping down his zipper, parting the fabric and setting his flushed cock free to flick against his abdomen. Both moaning softly in unison, you quickly licked a flat stripe from his base to his tip, eliciting heavy breaths from the boy beneath you.

“Oh Jesus fuck, baby girl,” he husked between gasps. “That feels… that feels…”

He barely had chance to finish his sentence before you wrapped your lips around his length and licked featherlight circles around his tip. Moaning greedily, he pressed his hand down on your head as you dipped down to take his cock down the back of your throat in one smooth motion, letting Jim’s hips buck wildly beneath you as you nuzzled into his pelvis.

“How the hell did I last two months without this?” Jim grunted, keening frantically as you flattened your tongue to take his twitching cock even deeper. “I’ve dreamt about you going down on me every goddamn night.”

“That’s a lot of dreams to live up to, Mason,” you hummed as you left his tip to draw breath before bobbing back down so hard, Jim cried out with all the breath left in his lungs.

“Fuck me,” he shouted, his hand idly caressing your hair. “It’s been so long, I won’t be able to last much longer, baby.”

With that, you drew back from his length with a pop and shuffled up to straddle his waist, sliding aside your panties and lining his spit-slicked head with your dampened folds.

“Then I better show you what else you’ve been missing, hadn’t I?”

Sinking down onto his cock with a steady rock of your hips, you pressed both flat palms onto his chest and revelled in his eyes squeezing firmly shut with every twitch of your walls around him.

“You’re so tight for me,” Jim muttered under his breath, curling his hips up into you to crash his tip against your sweet spot. “I’ve missed stretching you out like this.”

“Stay off the drugs and you can have this every damn day, baby.”

Blissed-out with his head plunged into the pillow, Jim couldn’t reply until you tested him with a sharp plummet down onto his length, burying every inch of him between your folds.

“You got me there, doll, no drug could beat being this deep inside you.”

Jim’s hands gripped your hips intently, digging crescents into your pubic curves to punctuate every time you grind down onto him, setting an agonisingly slow pace to slide his length into you. The pressure building within your walls only helped you slow your rocking motion, drawing out every thrust as Jim’s breaths sharpened beneath you.

“I—I can’t—I need… I need to,” he stuttered, hips keening manically to chase the fast friction he so desperately needed from you.

“What was that, baby?”

You weren’t trying to tease him, you were just determined to let him enjoy the moment, but Jim had other ideas. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he lunged forwards until you fell back on the bed beneath him.

“I’m so sorry,” Jim leaned down to whisper into the shell of your ear, peppering kisses in the exact same pattern you traced earlier as his hips snapped into you. “I wanted to let you carry on but after all that teasing, I really, really need to pound you into the mattress right now.”

[scoundrels-in-love]

Did you slip in through open doors and sit down, just to look at me like that (every day) | Chapter 2 - Jaime I

Brienne doesn’t mean to lie to her father. She just wants him to stop trying to set her up with men who aren’t Jaime Lannister, whom she’s secretly in love with. Unfortunately, that’s exactly who eagerly inserts himself in the narrative as her fake boyfriend. And her father is coming to King’s Landing in two weeks.

Truly, what could go wrong?

Also on AO3. Still part of @jbmonthlymadness Mutual Pining March.

He is so, so fucked.

Not quite the same way he thought a week ago, but still very much fucked.

Jaime glances over to where Brienne is watching a game on the couch for what feels like the hundredth time this half hour. While that itself isn’t unusual, everything else is. Tenseness in her shoulders he isn’t sure he will lure out with a stupid joke and then slay with even worse one, the way they’ve barely spoken to each other today and that his heart is being harshly kneaded by some huge, clawed animal. He’d say it’s a lion, but considering his House that feels just a little cliche .

Though, according to Elia, he is a walking cliche and a terribly executed one, at that. He sighs, realizes that the beer bottle really isn’t where he’s blindly grabbing for it, and averts his gaze from his fake girlfriend. There is exactly one word too many in that title and it’s neither girl or friend. If only he could convince Brienne of the same.

Jaime has tried , he really has. Gotten up earlier to make sure he can prepare her coffee and go on a jog with her, kissed her goodbye on the cheek, pestered her into having a lunch during work hours and ordered takeout to arrive just after she got home the days he knew he’d be home even later than her, sent her obscure memes about animals he found on some nature activist group on Raventome that he frankly didn’t get but hoped she would and have a good laugh between work and more.

Granted, he does all these things regularly anyway (except the cheek kisses, but he isn’t sure they’re as much of a highlight of the day for her as they are for him), but now it’s daily. And it’s not a bother, like Brienne tries to convince him to think, and Jaime would gladly do it for the rest of the foreseeable future. Even waking an hour earlier, although he likes to think that if they were properly dating, he’d persuade her to explore other workouts they could do in the time without leaving the house.

Elia suggested it’s because she’s stressed about the convention, but Jaime knows better. (“Of course you do, that’s why you suggested to be her fake boyfriend instead of telling her you’ve been head over heels for her for years now.”) No, Brienne’s work has nothing to do with the skittishness in her eyes, the way she freezes when he presses lips to her delightfully reddening cheek, sometimes daring to brush corner of her mouth or lingering a second too long because her proximity makes him a little dizzy, or stumbles over conversations topics as if they are larger than boulders she can easily best when hiking. She doesn’t even shut down his flirtations anymore - instead she looks away and mumbles something or trips into the next topic.

Their new arrangement is the cause, and the realization has been rolling toward him like a house sized morning star down a gentle slope.

“Jaime? Movie’s starting,” subject of his sweet agony and worry calls out and Jaime realizes he has quite literally spaced out. And that perhaps his inner narrator is going a little overboard. Elia would have another laughing fit if she knew.

He grabs the snacks and another beer and presents them to her with a smile, falls heavily in his spot that earns a little bit of glare from Brienne because, of course, she’s concerned for the springs and one of these days he will tell her he can think of more interesting things to wreck their couch with. ‘One of these days’ feels like an awful stretch and ‘a mountainclimb later’ sort of thing, though. He heaves a sigh.

“Everything alright, Jaime?” she asks and he looks at her, armed with a bright smile and an easy no, when they crumble faced with concern that colors the blue of her eyes deeper, yet gilded shade like the last glimpse of sunset paints the sea. Of course Brienne finds time to worry about him, despite seemingly thinking she’s standing between two cannons labelled ‘work’ and ‘fake boyfriend’, ready to shoot.

He wants to pull her close and press a kiss to her furrowed brow so much he can physically feel an alternate reality, one where he’s braver and does just that, manifest.

Unfortunately, in this one Jaime only laughs and plops his head in her lap, facing the TV. “Of course I am, B. But if you’re so worried, you can always pet my head and tell me it’s going to be alright.” He likes it when she says that, the way she sets her jaw mulishly and seems to simply talk it into existence with sheer willpower and kindness. But never for herself, only others.

Brienne stills for a moment, then, much to his relief, makes indigant noise and pushes at his shoulder slightly but with no real force. “I’m not a cushion, Jaime” she tells him and he shifts just so he can grin up at her.

“C’mon, I’ve been a good boyfriend this week, have I not earned one lap cushion coupon? I must use it before it expires.”

“ Fake boyfriend,” she says seriously and Jaime looks at the screen again so she can’t witness his grin shattering like the window of Casterly Rock’s kitchen when he had been six and too eager while playing ball. He might feel even more chastised than after the lecture Tywin had given him, which had left a stone grinding sharp edge in his gut for a week.

“Fine, but I am not going to pet your head. You are not an overgrown housecat, no matter how much you may act as one,” Brienne relents, but by the end of the movie, she brushes back a strand he has shaken into his eyes and halfway through the second movie, she actually runs her hand through his hair and he barely manages to remain still, instead of following her hand like foam graces a wave’s edge.

All things considered, Jaime feels re-energized for the next week and his little war campaign on Brienne’s heart. He likes to think of it as war, though she is not a thing to conquer despite her truly formidable walls, just to trounce the narrative she has set for herself.

Once, before that fatefully shitty night when a pipe in his first own apartment burst and Brienne had invited him to stay over until it was fixed (and then he never really left), they had talked about who they would be in Targaryen and Stark eras, both revealing their dreams about knighthood.

Already knowing her love for ridiculous, historical(ly inaccurate) romance novels, he had joked if she’d not like ballads written about her instead, but Brienne’s face had shuttered and she had reminded him that no one would go to war for her . “I would rather defend the innocent and fight than stay home a sad and unmarried maid,” she had concluded, before going off about Blue Knight and other warrior women of Tarth. Jaime had already known back then that in any lifetime she’d be worthy of many great songs - of love and otherwise. But the bridge of their friendship was tentative still and he had had no intentions of being the one to lay the siege on her heart.

And when he had wanted to, he had already been so deep in the annoying, best friend role and still so utterly not having his shit together he didn’t feel he had the right to start the march. Someone better would surely come along. Except no one has, three years later still, and Brienne seems to think it’s a sign she only deserves a photoshopped suit-hanger and Jaime would rather be pierced endlessly by her glowering and risk her friendship that he treasures above anything he has ever known, than passively let her continue believing that.

For now, he’s only dying because of work, as they are currently quite swamped. It doesn’t help at all that his brain is a little (or a whole lot, but who’s counting) occupied with various Romance-Brienne-So-Hard-She-Doesn’t-Know-What-Hit-Her strategies. His plans for Friday come to immediate stop when he arrives home and finds Brienne fallen asleep at the kitchen table, her laptop’s screensaver of pixelated Kingslayer and Blue Knight from their favorite cartoon bouncing around the screen. He had installed it the first week of living here and despite her initial grumbling, she has never changed or disabled it.

This would be easier if Brienne’s one quirk when working at home wasn’t changing her workspace every few hours, as if it helps her think. It’s one of her most restless habits and typically, Jaime finds it adorable, but now that he has to haul half-asleep Brienne to her room he… Who is kidding, he also finds it endearing.

“Jaime, I can walk,” she scoffs, but leans on him anyway and when he helps her lay down on the bed, her eyes are soft and a little dazed and he thinks of early spring mornings, when nothing but the birds and clouds are awake yet, against the blueness of the sky.

Brienne curls up and he pulls a blanket over her and she gives him a sleepy smile, so warm that the consistent pull toward her feels anchored to the sun itself. He follows it and leans down and presses lips to her forehead. She exhales softly and when he pulls back, her eyes are closed, but there’s an almost sad turn to her lips.

“I really don’t want this to end, Jaime.” Her voice is so quiet he almost doesn’t hear - he wouldn’t if he wasn’t so close. His heart does an odd thing in his chest, something that would make it more of a rope dancer than a lion leaping through a ring of fire.

Jaime brushes a strand of her hair back, gently, in an attempt to reassure what odd fear has burrowed into her heart. He shouldn’t be so happy every time Brienne expresses she doesn’t want to lose him, but even her brilliant light can’t erase generations of carefully cultivated selfishness. “It doesn’t have to.”

“But it will.” And then she nuzzles deeper in the pillow and he knows this is a conversation to be finished (or maybe repeated) when she’s actually awake. Quietly, he walks out of the room and when the door has shut gently, bounces toward the living room with a grin that everyone would tell him begs for a punch.

There is hope for him yet.

[margoshansons]

The Killing Kind (12/?)

Part Twelve. 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10.11.

MASTERLIST

Summary: Y/N calls in a favor. Peter realizes the consequences of his actions and refuses to forgive a friend. 

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST, ANGST. 

Notes: Thank you all so much for the amazing love and feedback you guys have been leaving! It makes my heart sing whenever I get a new comment or follow so thank you! AHHH this chapter hurts me.

When the shuttle left the next day Y/N didn’t get on it. Not while she knew Peter was somewhere in Berlin, facing her father alone. 

“Here, take this” Y/N grasped MJ’s hand, sneaking the thumb drive into her palm. “Keep it safe, it’s the only thing that could stop Mysterio.”

“Wait,” MJ grabbed her friend’s bicep, “You’re not coming with us?”

Guilt pressed against her chest. She had already wasted so much time on this trip trying to tie up her familial problems, she had hardly spent any time with MJ other than Venice and this last night. 

“No,” Y/N confessed, “I’m going after Peter, I need to make sure he’s okay.”

MJ pulled her in for a hug, “Be careful okay?” the girl pleaded. Y/N nodded, reassuring her friend that she would be okay. As she dialed the familiar number, she was thankful for EDITH’s encryption abilities. 

“Y/N?” MJ called from the door. The teen turned around, facing the scared eyes of her best friend, “For the record, I don’t care who your dad is, even after all this.”

Her breath stopped. 

MJ knew. Of course, MJ knew. Anyone would be able to put the pieces together. Of course, her true-crime obsessed friend would be able to figure it out faster than anyone. She was surprised it took her this long actually. 

She sent a smile before retreating back into the hotel, watching as the bus pulled away, carrying her friends to safety. 

Her phone picked up, the familiar voice of May Parker soothing any anxiety she had begun to feel. 

“Y/N?” The worried Aunt replied, sleepiness evident in her tone. “Is everything alright?”

“Hi May” She answered, taking a deep breath, “No, everything isn’t. I’m actually here to tell you about Peter.”

****

He collapsed on the leather seat of the highspeed train. His eyes closing as he let out a grunt of pain, his lungs burning. 

He had lied to him. She had lied to him. Some friends they turned out to be. Peter scoffed, immediately regretting it as pain burst across his side at the small action. He had trusted the Becks and they let them down. His biggest fear realized. 

Do you honestly think she actually cared about you? She was only there because I asked her to. She was only your friend because she was helping me. 

Mysterio’s words rang over and over in his head, the confirmation making sense of Y/N’s recent actions. Her sudden friendship with Peter. The show she had put on in Prague. Her interest in EDITH. He bet her powers were all part of the illusion as well. 

Maybe none of it was real. Maybe he was back in Queens, sound asleep in his bed, and all of this was a bad nightmare. 

Yes, he decided, consciousness slowly drifting off. That’s what it was. Just a nightmare. And when he woke up he would be home.

***

It wasn’t a nightmare he quickly realized. It was real. 

He was in a holding cell in the nicest country in the world, wearing nothing but black pants that put more than necessary pressure on his groin and an oversized orange shirt that stuck out like a sore thumb. Yep. This definitely wasn’t a dream. 

The lock of the cell broke open, his super strength finally coming in handy. It amazed him how he could just walk out of the door, asking for a phone and not be stopped by anyone. 

By the time the Jet touched down in the tulip field, Peter had decided that he would come back and visit the Netherlands again one day under happier circumstances.

He could’ve cried from relief when he saw Happy race down the steps of the plane. But he knew better. 

“Tell me something only you would know” was his only request, his chest twisting at the memory of Y/N saying it a day ago. 

“Remember when we were in Germany?” Happy offered, “And you ordered a Pay per view movie but I could tell by the price on the bill that it was an adult film--”

“Okay okay, it's you!” Peter yelled, his face flushed as he collapsed into the teddy bear-like arms of the man who had come to his rescue. Footsteps on metal broke the embrace apart and the familiar pair of sneakers sent his heart rate spiking. 

“Peter?” Y/N’s soft voice asked, her eyes wide in relief. 

Peter stepped back at the sight of the girl he had come to care for this past week. “What is she doing here?” Happy looked between the pair. “She was the one who told us about you, kid.”

He shook his head in fear, stepping back as Y/N moved forward. Her face switched from relieved to crestfallen, a tear brushing the edge of her eye. She was an amazing actress, he’d give her that. 

“Stay away from me” He commanded. 

Y/N tilted her head, shrinking back at the raised voice. Peter’s mind filled itself with the illusion Mysterio had sprung upon him. Pitting Y/N against him and his friends, dropping MJ herself off that tower, before using her powers to toss Peter into a wall, confirming her father’s words.

Her father.

The man who threw him in front of a high-speed train. 

“What did he do to you?” Y/N asked, heeding Peter’s command. 

“You mean what did you do to me?” Peter spat, malice coating his voice. “I know everything Y/N. I know you’re helping out Mysterio.”

She crossed her arms in a defensive position, her jaw setting itself in the familiar way her father did. “Why would I be here if I was helping out Mysterio?” She challenged, “Why would I create the virus? Why would I call May and Happy? Why would I come after you, Peter?” 

He was speechless at that. He wanted to chalk it up to espionage. Tell himself that she had lied about her family, her reason for wanting EDITH. He wanted to throw all the lies she had ever told him back in her face, but when he met her narrowed eyes, he couldn’t. 

“This is what Beck does Peter” Y/N explained, “He lies. He turns people against each other so he can rise above. He wants you not to trust me because he knows he can kill you if you have no one.”

Peter remained silent at the explanation. “How do you know?”

He knew how she knew. He knew Mysterio was probably lying about Y/N. He wanted nothing more than to believe her. But he needed to hear the words leave her mouth. 

“Because” She paused, shrinking at the thought of telling him, “Because Mysterio’s my father. Because he’s been doing it to me since I was eight years old.”

Peter let out a sigh of relief, limping toward the teenager, embracing her tightly. She was real and she was here and she was on his side. She had called Happy. She had told Aunt May everything was okay. She had told him the truth. 

He smiled into her neck, tears of relief dripping onto her shoulder. 

Thanks for the love and comments! They make my day and I love reading them! Also, sorry this one is so short, these next two chapters were supposed to be one, but I preferred a certain moment to be it’s own chapter. You’ll see soon enough.

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[terriblecreations]

The Way I Feel Inside Part 4

Masterlist for the Series is Here

Warnings: Mentions of broken nose?

Words: 1111

Summary: It’s time for the gala, and unexpected help allows it to go smoothly. But apparently this extra help causes a few extra problems you did not see coming.

Author’s Note: I know this chapter is definitely not the best, probably the worst one written. Hopefully Part 5, which will definitely be better, will drop soon

You and Eggsy drew your weapons, ready to fire. The waiter chuckled.

“Sorry for the cloak and dagger act, but the Statesmen were too busy trying to get our aliases to match up with y’alls and we didn’t feel like waiting. Your boss should’ve sent a memo.” He pulled off a fake nose and other bits. He motioned to his partner who was doing the same. I felt a pang when I realized who they were.

 “This is Gin and I’m Root Beer.”

Eggsy glanced at his smart watch, encrypted of course, before giving you the nod.

“Glad to actually make your acquaintance.” The woman said. She smiled at Eggsy and you felt a foreign feeling well up in your chest. 

You examined both of them, noting their done up hair and pristine outfits.

“You’re coming with us to the gala then…” you said, trying to keep the annoyance out of your tone.

“Why of course, Sam Adams.” Gin answered with a giggle.

You stiffened, gritting your teeth as Eggsy glanced at you with a raised eyebrow.

Root Beer noticably elbowed his partner, who looked confused for a moment before gasping in shock.

“Sam Adams?” Eggsy questioned.

“There’s no time for this,” you said. “We have to go to the gala now.”

Leaving no room for you guys being delayed any longer, you opened the door and slid into the car until you were behind Agent Root Beer. Eggsy followed, his jaw stiff as the car began onwards to your destination.

The ride was silent. You could feel Eggsy fuming in the seat beside you. You wanted to say something, anything, but this definitely was not the right time, so you filed it away for later.

“What’s the new plan?” he said, breaking the silence.

“Same bit, really,” Gin said. “You and Sam Adams, er… Morgana will still be going into the gala posing as newlyweds. Myself and RB will be posing as Tamora and Remus, your siblings, Galahad. The legitimate ones, that is. When we have the target in sights, Morgana and I will have a ‘cat-fight,” you and her both rolled your eyes at the term, “and RB will swoop in and take the target.”

“The Statesmen have a safehouse even more off the grid than your hotel suite, a cabin a few clicks away from the city. We will part ways, us boys and you girls, and rendevouz there.”

You nodded, appreciating the knack for detail you remembered the Statesmen having.

(Time Skip cause laziness)

You and Eggsy entered the gala arm-in-arm, fake smiles plastered on your faces as you navigated through throngs of rich folk who spared no second glances to us. Eggsy’s arm was wrapped around your waist, and you could feel how tense he was.

“Rupert,” you said, your voice soft as honey. You winced at the feeling of his arm tightning. You leaned in close to his ear, so close that your lips brushed against it as you said, “I know we need to have a talk later, but can you please stop squeezing me so tightly?”

His eyes widened, ears turning red as he slowly loosened his grip. “Sorry, love, but I think I’ll go check out the drinks over there.”

You watched him go. You hated to admit it, but a part of you wanted to chase him down and explain everything.

Unfortunately, however, Gin chose that moment to approach you. You shared a look before she shoved you, hard.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “What the fuck is your problem?” You made sure to make your voice a bit loud so the other partygoers could hear you.

“You know what my problem is, Amara. Keep Rupert the hell away from us. He’s not getting a cent of that inheritance.” She seethed.

By now, anyone within close proximity and then some was staring at you both intently.

“He’s worked harder than any of you lot. He deserves anything he’s given.”

Even the musicians were slowing down to stare at you. God, I need to lock myself in a room for a month straight to get over this, you thought to yourself.

For a moment, you wondered who was going to throw the first punch. Gin had no problem deciding that.

You stumbled backwards from the force of the blow. She raised an eyebrow at you, a proud smirk on her face.

Oh hell no.

You straightened yourself and grabbed her by her obvious extensions, ripping them out without warning. A collective gasp went through the crowd as you tossed them to the side.

Her eyes narrowed as she stalked toward you, but you brought the heel of your hand up and hit her straight in the nose. She cried out and grabbed her nose.

“If you’re done, Root Beer has the target and we’re heading out,” Eggsy’s voice echoed in your ear.

Now, how to finish this with time to leave…

“We have to get ourselves kicked out,” Gin whispered into her headset

Well, it was a charity gala, meant to sell the scultptures and paintings that happened to be laying around…

(Time Skip to the Cabin)

You helped Gin navigate the steps up the safehouse while she held a cloth to her nose. 

RB was the one who opened the door for you both, taking one look at Gin before letting you in.

“This isn’t what we meant by a cat-fight,” he said as he brought Gin to one of the sofas.

You glanced around the room, noticing one missing body. “Where’s Agent Galahad?”

“Dealing with the target in the basement.” RB looked you up and down. “Do any of the Kingsman know?”

“The Higher Ups do. That’s all that ever really mattered.” You sighed as you looked over Gin. “You good?”

She nodded. “You always knew how to throw a punch, Sam Adams.”

You smirked. “Well, I’ll head upstairs. When Galahad’s done, send him to me.”

Once in the room, you couldn’t help the flashbacks from before your time with Kingsman. Of nights spent in this cabin with a person whose face continued to fade from your memory every day.

You showered and changed into a pair of loose pants and a tank top before sitting on the edge of the bed, lost in thought.

“We need to talk.”

You glanced up to see Eggsy standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Yeah, we do.”

A/N: Now that that’s over. Part 5 will be on its way and yes there’ll be angst. Maybe some fluff. Idk we will see how nice I’m feeling that day.

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[thevoidable]

Small excerpts from my upcoming krbk fics

Aight, I’ve made a decision.

I have several Kiribaku fics (mostly AUs) that I’m working on, but my motivation has been on the down-low lately due to things going on in my personal life. SO, what I’m going to do is reveal a few small excerpts from each of them, and I’d be super grateful if y’all can take the time to quickly read them and let me know if you want me to finish them. 

Any amount of hype for even just one of them will really boost my desire to get them written as well as see which ones are more anticipated, so please don’t be shy! I love hearing what people think! [FYI, a majority of the following will be from the first chapter of each fic. Also, none of these are posted on AO3 yet; they’re all WIPs.] Hands of Smoke and Fire (Fantasy AU, longfic) ‘The darkness snaked on for what felt like an eternity, but soon threads of a gentle, silver glow slithered into view, and Katsuki charged straight into a lakebed of moonlight. Dirt flew into the air as he skidded to a halt in front of stark silhouettes that towered over him and swayed in the cool breeze, the moon itself just barely peeking over the top to give the light that Katsuki needed.  Having just come from the spire where the roaring flames had warmed the surrounding rock, his skin prickled with goosebumps from the night air’s chilly touch, and he wasn’t sure if it was a welcome change.  He shivered, but it was a small price to pay for what lay ahead. Katsuki looked back and caught sight of the rest of the kids finally catching up, their eyebrows furrowed in exhaustion and their mouths open with heaving breaths.  Katsuki wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so disappointed looking at them before.  “Are you serious?” he scolded.  “You’re out of breath from just that short of a run?  Are you Barbarians or not?!” “You’re way…faster than us…” panted a boy who was currently resting his weight on his knees and looked like he was about to throw up. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that you should be that weak no matter what speed you’re going!  If something chases you, you’re on your own.”  Katsuki huffed, and he turned back in the direction of the forest, peering into its depths for any sign of movement.  He saw nothing, and pushed back that slightest hint of relief.  “Ugh, whatever.  Catch your breath and then start walking.  You’d better not slow me down, got it?  You’re such a bunch of losers.” Blocking out the kids’ mumbled groans, Katsuki paced towards the edge of the forest and peeked down into the grass.  Crickets and a few other insects he couldn’t name dotted the ground here and there, and then vanished just as quickly as he’d seen them as they fled from his invading feet.  Many twigs and branches lay broken and mangled in front of him; he absentmindedly picked up a decently-sized one and swished it around in the air, enjoying the slight buzzing sound it left in its wake. However, a stick could only keep him entertained for so long.  Too fed up with waiting for the others to regain some energy, he stomped back over to them and gave the stick a good thwack on the ground.  He grinned at the way they yelped and jumped to attention.  It was the same tactic his mom often used. “I’m not waiting around anymore.  Get up and follow me,” he barked, not giving them a chance to reply as he began to march directly into the underbrush.  With luck, they’d been startled into alertness, because they obviously weren’t paying attention prior.  Katsuki wasn’t denying that the hunting grounds were dangerous; it was actually the reason he even wanted to go in the first place.  So if these losers had their guards down, it wouldn’t be his fault if something snuck up on them while they had their damn heads in the clouds. They quickly followed into step with him, not wanting to be left behind.  It’d be funny to see that, though.  To watch them panic in the darkness alone. “So, where are we going?” one asked.  He was looking over both his shoulders constantly as they passed each tree – yeah, Katsuki’s stick trick had definitely snapped him to his senses. “Wherever I want,” Katsuki replied, and while it was true that the idiots were here just to follow him, being out in the wilderness made him think a little on his own words.  Out here, there were no rules or restrictions, no leaders or dictators.  It was simply the quiet in the air, the crisp breeze slipping through each rustling leaf, the moon as their guiding light.  He certainly could go wherever he wanted, and do whatever he wanted.  Out here, he was his own leader, regardless of whether he had followers or not.  This feeling…  It stretched a smile across his face, lifted his head high, made him tread forward with that much more confidence.  It was a feeling he couldn’t put a name to, but he liked it.  It flooded his whole body, rushed to his head, pushed and shoved at his feet and begged him to keep going.  Suddenly, the feeling was all around him, calling to him; it was out there and he wanted to find it.  Badly. Out here, he had something he wanted to run to. So he ran.‘

--- Kiss of the Sea (Pirate + Merman AU, longfic) ‘At first, he wasn’t even aware he was awake. The weightlessness enveloped him like a bubble, suspending him in what he assumed was a dream-like state. Everything was quiet, save for the low hum in his ears of something slow shifting around him. But then he felt the feather-touches of...something...against his skin, twisting and moving and wrapping itself around his torso, but never squeezing. Something was underneath him as well, though it remained still, holding him in place...wherever he was. So, wait, where was wherever, exactly? Oh, right, he had eyes. He should probably open them. Before he even had time to focus on something solid, the amount of blue in front of him was overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It was comforting, actually. The colour was relaxing, calm enough that it almost made him want to close his eyes again, but the thing underneath him was itchy and uncomfortable. Part of it was in front of his face, forcing him to go cross-eyed to see it. He could grab it with his hands and push himself up a little, and it was then that he could make out the brownish colour and criss-cross pattern - rope? Yeah, it was definitely rope. Okay, so that was two things figured out… Kind of. Twisting to look behind him, he wanted to address whatever was brushing against his body. The white folds of the shirt he was apparently wearing were unmistakable, and it was loose and just gently waving about in the current. It was kind of bothering, to be honest. Well, off with that, then. The rope gave him little space to move around, so removing the shirt wasn’t the easiest of tasks, but once it was off he shoved it through one of the holes and watched it float as if suspended by some invisible string.  But, now that he thought about it, he wanted to be out there too - not really floating like the shirt, but...the endless expanse of blue below him beckoned him, and it got darker the further down it went. Up here, in the open and the light, he felt exposed, too close to...well, he wasn’t sure what he felt too close to. But something stirred deep in the back of his mind, whispering to him that he wasn’t supposed to be here.  He tried shifting about again, trying to survey his surroundings some more. He could see blue for as far as his eyes could see, but he couldn’t swim out to it; he was stuck here.  Wait. The rope. It surrounded him on all sides, almost clinging to him, and no amount of moving seemed to open up any points of exit. This was a net. And he was caught in it.’ ---

Initiating Sentience (Futuristic Robot AU, longfic) ‘At first there’s blackness.  A consistent void of nothing sits in front of him while he waits for the tiny flickers of red static to turn blue, giving him access to the motors in his eyes.  He can hear something though.  Voices.  Some kind of clicking he doesn’t recognize.  Footsteps.  Clanking metal.  More voices.  Pings sounding on and on in his head, alerting him that something isn’t right, that he’s not doing what he’s supposed to, that he’s being damaged, he’s screaming, crying out, needs to get away, needs to get back to-! His eyes open. 

The pixels in his vision slowly shrink down until a grey floor comes into focus beneath his face.  A yellow alert box also materializes in the corner; his breathing system is overworking itself and needs to slow down.  He feels his whole body pulsing with energy – he should be able to move now. Blinking a few times to check his eyelids are moving fluidly, he moves his hands into view and pushes himself up to sit.  There’s a slight tingle in his right shoulder, something had hit him – oh, there’s a metal table next to him.  Then…did he fall?  He recognizes nothing else in front of him…  This is all new, shouldn’t he know where he is?  This isn’t the first time he’s been activated, so why- >MEMORY FILES CORRUPTED “Oi, Metal-for-Brains, I’m over here.” His hearing sensors detect the voice coming from behind him, and he’s almost startled into falling back over.  He turns around nonetheless, and he looks up to see a human standing over him with his arms crossed, and his expression doesn’t look happy. >INITIATING FACIAL RECOGNITION >SCANNING: >FACE NOT RECOGNIZED >FACE STORED INTO DATA BANK >NO PERSONAL INFORMATION AVAILABLE’ ---

Glass Box (Canon-verse, oneshot) ‘The incoherent rambling of Deku’s muttering was just as annoying as the ticking of a clock in an empty room, echoing a repetitive tune like a drum beat with no song, constant and so monotonous that it would drive anyone stir crazy from the desperation of trying to stop it being committed it to memory – and it was that very reason that Katsuki hated the seating plan from day one of U.A.  He wasn’t just hearing Deku from across the room anymore, no; his voice was hovering right behind his ears like a fucking mosquito that wouldn’t leave him alone no matter how many times he tried to ignore the high-pitched buzzing. It was damn-near making him ready to snap. He didn’t even need to turn around to know that the little moron had his nose buried in his notebook, eyes staring so hard at the pages like he could burn holes through them.  And all the while he was tapping his pencil on the desk in rhythm to the bullshit he was spewing out of his mouth.  Every time Katsuki tried to think, to create even just one small space of solace for his thoughts to gather, Deku’s ever-present cacophony came barraging in like roadworks right outside his damn house. He could grip at the edges of his desk all he wanted, grip them until he broke his fucking knuckles, but he wouldn’t be able to shut the little nerd up without getting shit from Mr. Aizawa. Because Deku was muttering about their newest assignment. Which Katsuki also thought was bullshit, by the way – how the hell was this even supposed to help them become better heroes?  “Cultivation of Inspiration” his ass. “Of course, feel free to be as creative as you like with this.  There’s no right or wrong way to go about it.” “Then that could mean that anything goes and we won’t necessarily be graded on the subject so long as we present it well enough to-” At this point he was only half-listening to his teacher explain the basics, because the more he tried to focus on just Aizawa’s voice, the more it blended in with the hospital bed fucker behind him and he could no longer tell which were actual instructions and which was a useless cockroach he needed to crush beneath his foot.  He wasn’t even sure if Mr. Aizawa had gone over why they were doing this.  Only more reason to kick Deku’s ass for distracting him later. “However, due to the free-form nature of this assignment, your photographs will be looked over before you present them in front of the class to avoid any upset from students who may end up in them.” Katsuki felt the entire energy and gaze of the room shift to a couple seats behind him. “When you’ve finished thinking it over and you’re ready to start taking photos, head to Power Loader’s workshop.  You’ll find all the cameras stored in there.  Now, use up the rest of this time to brainstorm ideas.  I want to sleep.”’

---

Where the Sky Meets the Sea (Half-bird AU, longfic) ‘His scuffed-up boots kicked up loose stones and pebbles as they shimmied towards the craggy rock face, toes bravely peeking over the edge to meet the swirling grey below as the debris fell within and vanished not a second later, never to be seen again. The air was cold and unforgiving, whistling and howling its monotonous song that slapped at his exposed skin like an ice-covered whip. Surging up with weighted chains came the ever-familiar sensation that wrapped completely around him and yanked, fighting to tip his body and pull him down. It sank through his skin, bled into his veins, ate away at his very core, and he loved every second of it. He let the anticipation fuel his adrenaline as a fire spread out at his sides, wind licking the bright orange tips to make them sway and ripple with excitement. This thrill that swallowed him whole hadn’t changed since the first time he stood here as a child, when his wings were no bigger than himself and the breeze barely lifted his feathers. So now, with sculpted muscles hidden beneath downy layers of black and confidence built from years’ worth of training and endurance, letting the ground tilt beneath his feet was as easy as breathing - the forces around him had no need to fight or beg. Slowly he felt his blood stop dead in its tracks as his weight ceased to exist for a fleeting moment, and then in a single rush he couldn’t have felt heavier. The cold, the wind, the emptiness below - he tucked his wings in close in preparation to pierce it with just his body alone. He plummeted.  And there wasn’t a gale in existence that could wipe the wild grin from Katsuki’s face.’

--- Aaaaand there you have it! Those are all the previews I have for now - again, please let me know which ones you want to see most! Thank you!

[huffle-dork]

Sleight of Hand (Part 9)

Previous: [x] More Magnificent: [x]

Anti pushes forward towards the wide-eyed Marvin, twirling the knife in between his fingers and giggling madly. Marvin scoots away with fear in his eyes until his back bumps against the wall. Anti’s laughter echoes and grates in Marvin’s ears along with the sharp sound of glitching.

“What’s the matter? Ć̖̫̖̓͂a̡̛̳̯͆̀t͈͇̔̀͛͜ ̼̭͉̾̌̒g͓̳̯͛̑̔ǫ̜̬̀͗̕t̜̱̫̂́̑ ̲̦͓͗̈̿y̢͙̦͑̀̀ō̦͈̘͋̀û̞̲̯̉̉r͍̬̲̀̑͝ ̼̲̗̊́͌t͔̩̦͐̈́̾õ͈̲͈̍̋ṅ͍̯͙͒͗g̼͓͍̔̅̓ǔ̩̭̤̈́̉e͔̗͙͐̽̕?̛͙̀̅��͖ ̛͉̳̓͐͜” the glitch giggles, “You has some reason to call me here so fucking spill it!” He growls, his eyes flashing pitch black.

“I-I,” Marvin stammers, dread sinking into his whole body. This was a bad idea.

Anti sarcastically mocks Marvin’s stammering as he strode forward and knocked over a chair, causing Marvin to wince and shrink in on himself.

“I haven’t got all day, cat mask,” Anti snarls as he flips the knife up into the air again. The light above the table flickers in and out with Anti’s form as he glitches in anger. Marvin quickly sits up taller and bursts out, “It’s the others!”

This gives Anti pause. Then he laughs and points the knife down at Marvin, getting uncomfortably close. “Why would i care about those useless bunch of copies?” He spits, taking another step forward and Marvin closes his eyes, fear clutching his heart.

“B-because someone is controlling them!” He cries, and pries open his eyes to see Anti has stopped. He brings his head up and his mouth feels foul as he breathes, “T-they… they’re taking your puppets away.”

A hand heavily thumps next to Marvin’s head against the wall and the cold tip of Anti’s blade in held under his neck as Anti hisses and leans in close, ‘W̜͔͖̼͐͌̏́ḩ̛̞̙̯̅̐́ö̤͈̗̫́̈́́̇?̡͍̗̺̎͑͑͌”

Marvin swallows but stares determinately at the glitch, “His name is Phantom.”

Anti’s eyebrows shoot up, “That little nobody figment of that singer?” Anti giggles and lifts up Marvin’s chin with the knife, reveling in the way Marvin’s face scrunches in discomfort, “You gotta be lying to me, kit kat. He doesn’t have that sort of power.”

“He’s stronger than you know!” Marvin wheezes, “He’s taken a whole army from his time in prison and he… he’s gotten all the other egos. And he won’t stop til…”

Anti tilts his head, “Until what?”

Marvin takes a shuddering breath, “Until he has me.” He stares down at the floor for a second before looking back at Anti with a renewed fire in his eyes, “I can’t stop him alone… i-i need your help.”

Anti stares at Marvin in semi-disbelief before he throws his head back in manic laughter.

“Me? Help you???” He holds his stomach as his whole body glitches in laughter, “You truly must be d̠͈̲̂͆̎͂ͅe̜̙̲̍̾͛̕ͅs̢̙̻̼̀͌̉̚p̗̣̲̗͛̄̅̀ê̟̖̦̼̒̓͝r͉̲̰͙̉̈́͑͘à̦͎̩́̂͘ͅţ͓̗͉̐̿́͂e̹͇̩̘̋̀́̇.”

Marvin pushes himself away from the wall and his eyes glow blue, “I’ll do anything to save them… even work with you.”

Anti smirks through his strangled laughter, “You got balls, Marv, i’ll give you that.” Anti stands up on his feet and flips the knife, “But working with me is gonna cost you something… w̡̡̟͍̽͑̉̿h̼̻͖͇͋̐̈̕à̘͕͓̺̈́͋̆t͔͈͇̩̀̌̂̕ ̻̹̜̠̄͆͛̚ą͕̰̞̋̑̓̌ŗ̟͉̻͋͛͊̍e̹̭͍͙͊̋̃̾ ̖̣̻̄̀́͘ͅy͇̰͚͚̽̓̀͘ǒ̜̱̼̪͌͛̓u̻̹̱̪͑̓̊͘ ̡̻̙̖̏̃̈͗w̖̩̜̗̔̇̕͝ì̡̗͕̺͑̌͛l̫̲̤̮̆̌̇͝l̪̹͎͈̄̈́͑̅ị̩̲̎͛͗̕͜n̢̺̹̖̐̇͐̋g̡͖͖̺̽̉͐͝ ̤̼̰̬̂̒̀͘t͙̻͔̪̾͐̾̎o̱̟̖͒̾͛͜͝ ̢̝̭̝͒͋̄̿p̧̺̳̘͗͛̊͝a̟̞̠̼͒̍̍͑y̹̘̭̮͌̏̿͒?̺̘͇̬̔̏̌͘”

Marvin grips his hands into fists and his shoulders shake, “I… I’ve given everything i’ve had to try to keep them safe…. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Y̠̝̻̿̇̔͜͝o̢͓̙̠̾̅͝͝u̦̱̞͔̇͌͘͠'̛̪͚̬͆̏͜͝r̙̤̘̜̾͐͂͘e̠͇̘͎̎̑͂́ ̝̮̟̻̃̆͝͠g̖͙̺̮̈́̄̀͠ǫ͉͉̌̾̌̄ͅn͔̞̭̱̐̐̀̿n̢̼̤͔̉͒̍͝ą̞̲͂̀͂̕ͅ ̧̞̘̻̎͆̀͠ŗ̳̱̝̈́̎̿́e̡̙͕̠͗̉̒̚g̫͈̜̗͌̌͆͝ṙ̺̦͚͓̈̀̀e̗͍͉̣̔́̾̌t̳͙͇̎̓̈́̇͜ ̛̖̯͈̘͑̊͠t̝̺̖̣͌̈́̎̑ĥ͚̞̹̍̏̀ͅō̖̹̹̤͐̊͝s̘̝͇̍̀͌͒ͅe̼̬͔̽̆̈͗͜ ̝̪̖̜̀̋̌͠w̡̰̟̗̏̊̾͂ǫ̢͚̭̾̅̄̏ȓ̡̨̥̀̋͑ͅd̳̯̟͈͊̔̇͛s̡̢̛̮͉̾̀̚,̛̫̩̰̇̀̌ͅ ̠̼͈͓̃̇̓̈́Ṃ̢̛͖͌́̈́ͅà͔̱͍̻͊̎̿r͙͚̟̰̽͒̾̾v̧̝̮͕̿͌͌͐ị͎͙̮͆͛̃͘n̘̙̰͍̾̔̾̒.̝̼̫͎̄̅̓̆” Anti giggles, but he turns and places the knife on the table before he offers Marvin his hand with a lopsided smirk, “But for now, it seems we have a deal.”

Marvin slowly takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. Suddenly Anti is pulling Marvin closer to him by his arm and he whispers harshly in his ear, “But don’t think for a second its out of the kindness of my lack of heart. I’m only doing this is get back what’s m̨͙̭̫̾̒̐̈́i͔̰͕͚̍͋̾̾n͕̞̳̠͆̅͂͂e̞͔̫̗͌̀͒͠.̺̦͕̪̎̈́̀” Marvin shivers but he nods. Anti looks like he’s going to grip harder onto Marvin’s arm to increase the threat but his arm passes through Marvin’s in a series of pixels and glitches. Marvin jumps back in surprise.

“Ah Damnit!” Anti growls as he shakes his arm and tries to get it back together.

“What the hell…?” Marvin whispers, watching as Anti’s form continues to glitch and fizzle.

Anti flashes black eyes at Marvin with a low growl, “Whatcha lookin’ at, circus freak?”

“What’s happening to you?”

The glitch gives a bitter laugh as his arm finally comes back together and he flexes it as if testing it’s strength, “Not all of Jack’s figments were made to exist in their own bodies. He made me to exist in his fucking head… a virus.. A glitch in his computer.” Anti growls and smashes his hand against the table with another growl of anger before he lets out a breath, “I can’t exist in a solid form too far from his head without…”

“That’s why you’re only seen in videos for such a short time...Why the camera can never pick you up just right. Why no one has seen you make your own place in the city…” Marvin gasps as he pieces it together, “...Why you hate Jack…”

Anti tilts his head with a cruel smile, “Yer a smart one. He forced me to live inside his stupid head while he let all you roam free….Not exactly fair is it?”

“Well… you did try to kill him,” Marvin counters and Anti merely shrugs and brushes past Marvin and flops onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Enough fucking around, whiskers. I’m figurin’ this whole thing has a time limit so catch me up on what yer plan is.”

“Ah, right,” Marvin says shaking his head and he grabs the cards from the table and joins Anti on the couch. He takes a few minutes to catch the glitch up on who Phantom and all he’s done in the past months before he retells the most recent bits, “Phantom stole them all earlier tonight. He can reveal their desires and has minor mind control to make deals. Once a deal is signed he has their souls… and they can’t resist his commands. He has everyone. He says if i don’t give myself up to him he’ll… he’ll kill them all. And i have no doubt he will. WIth his army and the others… my magic alone isn’t gonna be enough against him.”

“So what’d ya need me fer?” Anti sneers and Marvin looks conflicted, “...did you even think of a plan before you slit yer hand open to bring me here?”

Marvin stares down at his bleeding hand as if just remembering it was there. The cut is still bleeding but the blood looks almost black and Marvin swears he sees green glitches appearing around the edges. He rips a piece of his shirt sleeve and wraps it around the wound as he stammers, “I...I guess not.”

Anti huffs in condescending laughter, “yer an idiot.” He pushes off the couch and grabs the ace of diamonds, studying the address on the back. He twirls the card thoughtfully in his fingers and almost drops it as his hand glitches through it. He catches it with an annoyed grunt before he flings it at Marvin. “So, you’ve handled the guy before right?”

“Yeah… i uh… I’ve killed him before.”

Anti clicks his tongue against his cheek, “Yeah but figments aren’t so easy to kill.” Anti leans back on the couch’s arm and regards Marvin, “Think ya got the guts to kill ‘im again?”

Marvin stares shocked at Anti before staring down at his lap. Slowly, he shakes his head, a cold look on his face. “No…. killing him is too merciful.”

Anti barks out a laugh, “I like the way you think, cat mask! … Maybe you an’ me could be good partners down the road….”

Marvin gives Anti and withered look, “I don’t want to hurt people anymore, Anti. I’m not like you.”

Anti crosses his arms and shrugs, giving him a devilish grin, “Ya never know what could change.” The glitch rises back up from the couch, “So you’ve beaten him before, right? Multiple times?”

Marvin self consciously messes with his hair, ���Well yeah.. But the only time i’ve gotten a jump on him is.. When i’ve surprised him.”

“So why not do that again?”

The magician's eyebrows furrow together in confusion, “I can’t. He knows i’m coming.” Anti rolls his eyes, “Yeah but now you have me. That’ll probably get the jump on him.”

Marvin looks more confused, “The… the warehouse is on the other side of town. You just said you can’t exist long out of Jack’s-!” Marvin is cut off by Anti slamming his head against the back of the couch with a sinister grin spreading across his face.

“There’s more than one way to exist outside my host,” He cackles as he snatches Marvin’s bandaged hand and curls his fingers under the fabric. He rips it away before plunging his fingers into the wound. Marvin cries out in pain and his body seems to be consumed by the feeling of static and electricity.

“W-what are you doing?!” Marvin gasps breathlessly as spots dance in front of his eyes. The lights and electronics are going haywire in the apartment as Anti laughs madly. The glow of his unnatural green eyes is the only thing Marvin can see clearly through the madness. Marvin screams as the pain seems to collect and linger on his sliced palm. It feels like he’s being sliced open on the inside by a thousand sharp razor blades.

“Y̡̖̝̗͑̽̃̐o̟̥̫̦̒̈́͠͝ư̜̫̹̐̈́̈͜ ̧͓̳̭̈̅͂̎s̮͓̦͚̾͐̅̃a̠̦͕̅͌̈̑͜ĩ̭̥̞́̇͒ͅd̪̖͉̭̐͛́͝ ̜̫̮̻͗̇̎̋y̗̣̱͆̎̅͜͠o͓̝̻̅̐̈́͌ͅũ̢̡̳̬̀̌̃'͎̣͈̩́̀̈́̕ḑ̱̣̮͛͌͘͠ ̢̞̜͚͑̽̎͌b̻̙̟̱̏͂́͝e̹͇̥͙̓̀̆͂ ̖̫͌̒͒͋��̙w͕͔̠͇͗̊̉͝ȋ̢̲̗͔͊̕̚l̡̗̘̪̔́̀̈́l̤̱̖̘̽̃̈̋i̢̲̜̦̅̓́̈́n̹̤̦̮͑̃̓̾g͕̙̘̗̏͌̓̋ ̧̡̜̲̍̿͑̀t̛̥͕̫̆̈̚ͅo̧͚̜͒̋̚̚͜ ̰̮̩͗̈́̎͠ͅd̰͕͈͙̀̄̑̚o̬̝̤̟̐̾̈́͛ ̢̥̤̘͒̎̿͝ä̛̦̰̗̹́̎̇n̞͚̳͒̆̍͜͝y͙̹̳̅̇̈́́ͅt̨͕̰̹̃̽̔̋h͍͈̰͐̅̂͌͜i̛͙̗̭͈̐̎̚n͎̼̠͎͗̈́͋̑g̬̠̗̬̐̑̚͘,̪̦̼͚͗̈́̓͘ ͈̣̯̤̽̈́͋̒M̫͇͚͓̍̀̀͂ä̛̬̻̪̹́̈͝ṟ̭̹̟͂̇̑͝v̨̳̱̇̈́̌͊͜i̤̳̝͙͋́͘͝n͙̺̥̝̊̿̎͝.̼̣̖̯̍̍͑͝ ̗̜̱̬̅̃̔̚T̗̰̗̹̂̓̀̀h̲͇̙͑̂̆͜͝i̛̬̞̞͚͌̾̑s̨͓̹̯̓̈́̈́̔ ̢̫͎͇͌́̒͑ḯ̼̭̯̦̍͑̋s̝̮̳͛̐̎͜͝ ̧͚̦̖́͗͘͝w̢̲̬̹̎̑͝͝ḩ͇̮̜̿̾͌͐e̛̖͙̱̣͂̆̑ŗ̠̗̥̑͑̽͝ę̩̭̝̐͒̀̊ ̨̨͙̟̿̕͠͠t̨͔̬͈͐̉̽̇h͙̤̜̞͆̄̄͠e̡̤̝̻̋́̃̈ ̧͈̺̮̎̅̽̇f̧̖̹̲̈̆͑͘ų̮̬̙͗̾͝͝n̛̲̣̬̅͑̕ͅ ̢̞̜̭̓̍̈̚ḅ̠̺͖̆̋͛͘e͖̹̲͒͋̈́̀͜g̡̞̲̜̎̄̀͝ỉ̜͚̘̲̒̕͝ñ̡̥͖̯̂̈̈́s̳͎̮̮͆͊͗͝!̪̺͔̟̉̈̐͆” Anti giggles sadistically as his voice echoes and grates the inside of Marvin’s head. He can’t think, or breathe or feeling anything besides this awful feeling of being torn open. The pressure seems to build and build until Marvin is sure he’s gonna pass out from it all.

Then, there’s one big burst of light as all the electronics fizzle and die and the room goes dark. Marvin clutches his hands to his chest as he breathes past the pain. His face is covered in tears he hadn’t realized he’d been crying. The lights slowly flicker back on and Marvin looks around to see Anti’s no longer in the room with him.

“A-Anti?” Marvin whimpers as he stiffly pulls himself up from the floor. When had he fallen down there? He shakes his head as a wave of nausea comes over him. His whole stomach turns and he lifts himself and high tails it to the bathroom. He barely is able to make it to the sink before he spews and coughs out whatever was irritating his stomach. He wipes away his mouth and shudders out a raspy breath. He blinks and stumbles back when he looks down and sees the mess is nothing but what looks like glitching black blood.

He pushes up against the wall and stares at his hand. It’s completely healed over, but the skin around the cut looks green and it too looks like it’s glitching.

Marvin is in full panic mode as he pushes back towards the sink and shoves his way towards the mirror. He shakily reaches up a hand and wipes away tears of blood leaking from his eye. His right eye, which now echoes the look of Anti’s.

Ah sorry, the process can have a few glitches~! Anti’s voice echoes throughout the space and what feels like Marvin’s head. Marvin grits his teeth against the foreign feeling and shakily pushes back away from the mirror. He tries to say something in response but finds himself choking as pain erupts from his neck. He stares in horror at his reflection as a thin neck wound starts to open on his neck and begins to bleed. Exactly like Anti’s.

“W-what the hell did you do?!” Marvin coughs, and blood drips out of the side of his mouth and he shudders. His body seems to glitch slightly and Marvin’s skin crawls at the uncomfortable feeling.

I gave you a fighting chance, kitten whiskers. The glitch chuckles darkly. Marvin feels something sharp in his head and a tug like he’s being pulled by a string and his whole body lurches forward so he’s staring back at his reflection in the mirror. Marvin sees his head tilt slightly in a mischievous manner as Anti’s voice seems to echo from his own, “That con man won’t even suspect what’s coming for him~!”

Marvin’s reflection grins as his eyes burn green.

Part 9.5: [x]

[salt-and-a-dash-of-pepper]

A Phone Call - A Detroit: Become Human FanFiction

Warnings: Suicide and Major Character Death

Characters: Connor, Hank, RK900 (Richard)

Prompt: Based on the reverse roles au, where Connor is the human and Hank is the android. Now, it’s Connor who commits suicide, and Hank, who fails.

Words: 3160

Summary: If there had been a moment of brevity, Connor might have stopped. But he didn't. 

Also on Ao3 - [x]

----------

The phone was in his hand.

So unfamiliar, the weight of it. He had held it in his palm for many years, the sweat stretching like paper film over its screen as he listened to the constant nattering of the forensic office, the DPD assistant at the front desk-- Tammy, read her name, in bold letters on a golden metal sheen, batting the android assistants away as she struggled for the paperwork that spilled out of her arms--and Jeffery, all tired in their own way, voices dry and cracked, so much unlike the ever-constant pattering of Detroit’s rain. The screen was cracked now, shattered at the edges like broken glass, and a long line that stretched across the middle, distorting the screen just enough to make his eyes stream.

RICHARD, was the word now that gleamed starkly out to him, like the gasping chasm of Hell, a trapdoor gaping wide open to expose a wild stream of light. It hurt his eyes, staring at the default white font, the pixels at the edges shifting and dancing the more he stared unblinkingly into it. It looked like milk spilled on black paper, the letters sinking into the sodden parchment as it turned a darker and darker grey until eventually, it became darker than the black itself. He swallowed his throat (the skin stretched and stuck together, and for a brief moment, he couldn’t breathe) and pressed Call.

The first ring came.

It was almost as agonizing as knocking on Richard’s pristine door, the wood rattling against his knuckles and then echoing on as the wait began, in the cold rain as the fall evening reminded him constantly of its rebellious decision to turn to winter before its time was due.

Richard had never opened the door.

The second ring came. Connor thumbed the surface of his table. Even though he was inside, the chill against the base of his spine was almost painful, and the sick twist of warmth in his stomach was not a welcome assistance. By the third ring, his thumb was brushing against the END button, and he released a shuddering breath.

“Hello?”

Ah. Shit. Connor opened his mouth, and nothing came out. All he could hear was the roar of his air conditioner. He forgot it could be so loud.

“... Connor? Is that you?”

He forgot how to talk. He wet his lips. Once. Twice. His tongue was so dry. He croaked when he hadn’t meant it, but it sounded like a “Hey,” and it was at least a start.

“Uh… hey. What’s up?”

Richard’s voice was distorted by the miles of distance, the barest of crackling against the transmission. Like sand against rocks, scrapped over skin. He rubbed at his forearm.

“Uh,” Connor coughed. “Nothing… Nothing much. I, uh, just wanted… to check up on you and… yeah. Y’know. Just chat. I, uh. Yeah. Haven’t talked to you in a while and all that.”

Connor’s mouth moved on its own. He didn’t even know what he was saying. He was standing yards away, in the hallway, listening to the conversation play out. A person outside of the scene, eavesdropping. He wondered if he looked back, he’d see himself standing in the dark.

There was a long pause, and in that pause, Connor knew everything. He sensed Richard squinting down at his phone, bridge wrinkled and nostrils flared as he made a face of mild disgust. “ Now ?” he asked, with a hint of indignation.

Connor’s fingernails rubbed against his palm achingly. Everywhere hurt. “Y-yeah. I don’t know. I didn’t know when to call.”

“Well,” Richard’s voice was strained, and he heard the man draw in a long breath. Words through the teeth, like talking to a child constantly causing trouble. “You never return my calls when I do have time, man. I’ve got a meeting in five.”

“O-oh.”

Connor leaned against the chair, the bones of it creaking as he sagged his weight over it. He fucked up again.

“W-well, in that case, sorry. I didn’t mean…”

Another long pause, as Connor lost his mouth along with his head and forgot what else to say. He opened and closed it, a small pop of his lips, but kept any noise from coming out. Don’t fuck up again.

“Uh.” It was Richard this time, the single syllable word managing to separate into two the longer he drew it out, and he could picture the man, dressed sharply in a suit and tie, gaze about awkwardly into the hallway as if the wallpaper would provide an escape. “Look, Connor… I appreciate you calling and all, but… I mean, I have maybe two minutes tops.”

Two minutes. He didn’t know why it felt so important, but the time burned in his stomach, an ache with no end. He blinked, straining to find his head again, but he didn’t need to. It came with the ache, burning stronger than his chest. “That’s fine,” he breathed. “Two minutes are fine.”

“Uh… okay?”

He wet his lips again. His tongue stuck to the skin. “How’s Brooke?”

Richard made a noise, much akin to a suitable What the fuck? , but didn’t elaborate. “Uh, she’s fine. She’s… uh, in L.A. right now, talking to some editors about her book deal. Been there for a week now.”

Brooke wrote? For how long? Connor squeezed his eyes shut (the room was spinning), and rubbed his hands over his face (they were shaking) as he tried to grasp at the strings of conversations dangling at the ceiling, when Richard gloated over his fiancee and Connor shoved steak into his mouth, willing the sounds of chewing to drown out the burning words. He didn’t even recall the wedding reception. Was he there for that? The ice at his back twisted into claws scraping at his skin, and he squished his eyes in with his palms, waiting for the black dots to start anew in his vision.

He must not have said anything in reply, because Richard said tentatively, “How’s Jenna?”

Jenna? Who was Jenna? He didn’t even remember his face until his mouth answered for him: “It didn’t work out between us.”

Short hair. Brunette. A strange smile that only quirked at one side of her face, leaving her looking lopsided and ill-kept. He was wild about her. She always wore this bright yellow jacket that fell just below her thighs; it bled through the mirage of greys and blacks in Detroit. Why didn’t he remember her?

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah.”

At the sound of his own voice, he remembered, peering through a mirror of his own tenor, Jenna raging on the other end of the phone. He hadn’t gone to something with her. Something important. He was too busy at work, asleep at his desk, smoke still clinging to his clothes like a vice. She could smell it on him as he met her, three hours too late, hair disheveled and flowers wilted and crumbled, just like his apology. She wrinkled her nose, eyes still swollen and watery. His cheek still stung when she left him in the rain. He fucked up again.

He swallowed (and his throat still stuck together).

“How long have you two been married again?”

An audible huff came this time, laced with irritation. “Three years, Connor.”

“Oh.”

“You missed both of our birthdays for the past two years.”

“... Oh.”

It hurt to breathe again. Wisely, he decided to say nothing else. The clock ticked on, and the chill never left. On the other end of the line, he could hear distant mutters, drowned out by the static and his air conditioner.

Richard’s voice fell into a soft whisper. “Look, I gotta go, Connor.”

Connor’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He swallowed (fuck, stop closing), and bit his tongue. The air conditioner roared so loudly that he couldn’t hear his own breath, and it occurred to him that he had never turned it on that evening. “Y-yeah. Go ahead. Tell Brooke I said, ‘Hi,’ and all that.”

“...Yeah, sure.”

Don’t fuck up again.

Fuck, everything hurt.

“And Richard?”

Silence. Connor didn’t even know if he was still on the line. Nevertheless, he twisted his fingers in his palm, feeling the nails dig into the soft flesh.

“I never actually hated you.”

Another long pause of silence. Connor waited, his eyes darting idly about the kitchen until the constant, ever-present din crooned in his ears.

Richard had hung up.

He still felt like he was standing at the door, rain pelting at his jacket, Detroit autumn always reminding him that winter came whether he wanted it to or not.

Connor released a shaky breath and brushed his hands against a metal barrel.

--------

His company had the budget and reputation to ensure all of the highest quality of items, and the chairs were no different. As Richard settled into the leather seat, it sank comfortably against his weight, a perfect firmness at his spine as he rolled himself up towards the table. His coworkers seated themselves beside him, unbuttoning their expensive suits to keep them from wrinkling, and smoothing out their ties against their chests. Richard ran a contemplative hand through his hair, gnawing at his cheek as his eyes danced nonchalantly across the table, Connor’s voice still an echo in his ears.

Two years.

He hadn’t called in two years.

He knew this because Brooke had mentioned it just two weeks ago, lips curving into their own scowl as she remarked upon the complete audacity of her brother-in-law, who hardly knew her name. “I don’t know how someone could just…” she had tossed her hand about as if the word was there in front of her, in reach for her to grab it, “abandon the rest of their family like that. I know he hasn’t called your mom in years either.” And Richard had contemplated that, licking excess spaghetti sauce off of their ladle and snorting when Brooke had flicked him in the nose. Richard interlaced his fingers together now, pads twitching against the webbing.

“That’s fine. Two minutes is fine.”

It was the strain of it all that had kept Richard on the line. The absolute desperation. Richard toyed with a pen in his hands. Maybe his elder brother finally got it. Maybe he finally was tired of being alone.

Richard jumped at the squeak of the door as Simmons swung it open, calling their attention with a good-natured joke and inducing forced laughter from the rest of them, as he slapped the papers down on the table with an authoritative thump. So the meeting began.

He swallowed and listened, as he had always done. The company budget, barked the man before them, tossing papers at them to oggle (if not totally preoccupy themselves with) as he summarized their contents, leaning his weight over the table to eye them all challengingly. It was a game with Simmons, the first to propose a possible solution, and on they would tumble, down the path of legal barriers and corporate propositions that lead to even more capital, each trying to better the other with their own knowledge. A challenge that they all loved, else they wouldn’t all be sitting there in that room, as high of positions as they had, grinning fiercely at each other as though they were squatting in a grass-patched field with a ball at their feet. They waited for the first, and the first did indeed speak, a thin, strong-nosed fellow by the name of Davidson, and he was often first at everything, simply due to his own impatience to, in his words, “get the ball rolling.” Richard watched, cheek pressed against his open palm, a faint grin touching his face as spittle flew from both their lips.

And then five minutes passed in the meeting, and the words came as clearly as though they were next to him, spoken in his ear by the man sitting just next to him, smelling faintly of coffee and washed with cheap store cologne.

“I never actually hated you.”

His grin fell as quickly as the spiders came.

The voices stopped, the murmurs ceased, and all Richard could hear was the ticking of the clock, as though it was the only thing in the room, nestled just above him and clicking its innocent ticks. His throat closed, as though something had slid its fingers through his skin to squeeze directly onto his windpipe. His free hand, still resting on the table, curled ever so slightly so that his nails dug into the metal, and he felt them press into his skin, sinking lower and lower until there was only bone. Spiders. Spiders at his skin. The world was screaming suddenly, the clicking of the clock all muddled together with the whispers around him, and he was standing before he even heard his chair roll and then topple over, the wheels spinning maddingly around.

“Richard?”

He blinked, and everyone in the room was staring at him, mouths agape and brows folded over their noses. The screaming didn’t stop, but it faded for long enough for him to hear the insistent tick of the clock and the air conditioner, so loud in the crowded room.

“I have to go,” was all he could croak before he felt the keys in his pocket and ran.

-------------------

Too much traffic. Too many cars. Not fast enough. His thumb pressed against the screen of his phone so hard that it ached.

“Hi, it’s Connor. I’m not at the phone right now, so--”

Richard swore, but he choked somewhere in the middle of it that left him swallowing his tongue. He kept his foot on the gas pedal, swerving between cars. He was certain he heard a siren behind him. He didn’t look to check. All he could hear was the croak of the voice, the last sentence before he had hit the button and shuffled so callously into the conference room.

“I never actually hated you.”

He ended the call, and then pressed CONNOR again.

“ Hi, it’s Connor--”

There was too much traffic.

--------------

He was going fifty in a twenty-five. The sirens didn’t follow him down the road, and for that, he was grateful. Still, the white signs that sped past him glowed accusingly at him, the parked cars the only witnesses of his minor misdemeanor.

The same voice, as loud as ever, as if it was right next to his ear, came again. “Sir, I’m going to have to see your driver’s license for this.”

Now he was going sixty.

--------------

For his salary, his house didn’t look that bad. The shutters were always pulled down, the grass and bushes were always unkempt, and Connor had always parked his car crooked in the driveway--never did he ever use his garage for the thing that it was built for--but, compared to the rest of the houses on the block, it looked quite pleasant. At least the paint wasn’t peeling off.

Before Richard even touched the brakes, he saw another car, pulled to the side of the house, the bright white display of TAXI shining on its side. He gasped in relief at the sight of it, lips curling into this incredibly stupid smile--at least, he assumed it looked stupid, if he bothered to look in the mirror--because it meant that there was another person in the house, and that was fine. His hands were quivering with relief against the steering wheel, and he almost had trouble pulling over to the side, drifting on the brakes as he parked just behind the taxi. He pawed at the handle of his car, almost laughing to himself for fumbling with the door. He couldn’t wait to get inside and crush his dumbass brother.

The cold air struck Richard like a wave, chilled fingers immediately pulling themselves into the creases of his clothes and stealing away his warmth. He ground his teeth and swung the door shut, making a determined strut around his car and into the driveway. His eyebrows twitched when he saw a figure in the light, standing just beyond the porch, white hair stark in the moonlight and clothes glowing in the dark. His twitching eyebrow grew into a frown, and as he stepped closer, he noticed that the figure was standing away from the door, back facing it and head bowed over his shoulders, beard brushing against his finely-fitted suit. The LED was flashing red beneath his silver hair.

Richard stumbled over his feet, and his mouth felt dry.

“Who are you?”

The android twitched its head as if to pull itself from a dream, to blink blearily at him. It was designed to look old, synthetic wrinkles moving with every twitch of its eyes. It straightened ever so slightly, and in a soft tone, said, “My name is Hank.”

Richard couldn’t feel his tongue. The cold was stronger, stealing away the breath in his throat.

“Where’s Connor?”

The android reacted strangely, brow folding over its eyes and its LED blinking erratically, still that same bright red. “I’m sorry, Anderson.”

Richard couldn’t see around him. All he saw was the android and the door. Everything else was dark and cold and not there. He grabbed the android’s shoulders, fingers like iron against its shoulders.

“ Where is Connor?”

It said nothing.

Things were moving too slowly, then. He ran, but everything was too slow. Some force was pulling him back, hands grabbing him at his belt and pulling him down to the ground, clawing at his legs and keeping him rooted to the concrete. He stumbled over the steps at the porch, hands clumsily clawing at the door handle until he miraculously twisted it, the metal biting like fire against his skin. He was sure he called for Connor. He was sure of it. But he couldn’t hear it over the roar in his ears, like jet engines screaming beside him. He threw himself against the wall, as if his legs were drunk or in water, pulling himself along it like a rope on a mountain. He crossed the corner, to the kitchen, croaking for Connor’s name.

And there he was. The first time he had seen him in two years, in his worn out DPD sweater and slacks, barefooted and with a five-o’clock shadow. Lying unmovingly on the floor, with… with…

Red…

O-on his… cabinets…

On the table…

Around his…

His…

The hands finally got him then, and pulled him to the ground by his waist, keeping him there as he stared, spiders having finally stung him, hammer finally crushing his head.

“I never actually hated you,” he had said. And Richard hung up.

The spiders were inside his head, squirming in his ears, and he couldn’t feel anything else but the weight of spikes pulling him to the ground, something wet pooling down his nose.

He fell to the ground and didn't get back up. And he formed a little puddle of his own.

[iamvegorott]

A Small Glitch Chapter 11

Closet Man

“Ann! Ann get back here!” Anti called as he chased after the little girl, winter coat in his hands.

“Never!” Annalise giggled, glitching away from Anti when he got close.

“Oh, we’re playing that game.” Anti chuckled before glitching as well.

“Glitch!” Annalise said before glitching again.

“Just put your jacket on!” Anti huffed. The two ended up glitching all around the house, landing in the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, the library. They glitched everywhere but the office and basement since Annalise knew she wasn’t allowed there.

“What are you two doing?” Dark asked when Anti and Annalise ended up in the living room, green and orange pixels falling from the sky like snowflakes. “The bus is going to be here any second now.”

“I’m trying to put Ann’s jacket on, but somebody doesn’t want it.” Anti gave Annalise a playful glare.

“Annalise. Jacket. Now.” Dark ordered in a soft tone.

“Okay, papa.” Annalise said, taking the jacket from Anti and slipping it on.

“Now, that’s just rude.” Anti pouted, sitting down on the ground.

“You know that you’re not supposed to be glitching unless it’s an emergency, right?” Dark said to Annalise.

“Yes, papa.” Annalise nodded.

“Why does she listen to you in the morning?” Anti was still pouting.

“We’re just doing good cop, bad cop. Sometimes bad cop wins.” Dark chuckled as he held out his hand, helping Anti to his feet.

“Bus here, bus here!” Annalise cheered as she looked out the screen door.

“We’re coming.” Anti said as he and Dark took Annalise’s hand and lead her out of the house.

“Hello, Mr. and Mr. Powell.” The bus worker greeted the two men after they reached the bus.

“Morning, Pam.” Dark watched as Annalise climbed up the bus steps.

“Hey, Pammy.” Anti noticed that the worker was giving him a strange look. “Something wrong?”

“Your eyes are green.” Pam said.

“I…”

“You left your colored contacts in again. I told you that you need to make sure they’re out when we leave the house, it’s great for advertisements on the TV, but outside of that it looks weird.” Dark chuckled, giving Anti a pat on the back.

“Oh, my bad.” Anti’s laugh was a little forced.

“Bye, daddy! Bye, papa!” Annalise yelled from her seat, waving.

“Bye, Annalise.” Dark said while Anti waved both arms, making the girl giggle.

“We’ll see you later.” Pam said before going to her seat and the bus leaving.

“You left your eyes green?” Dark sighed the moment the bus was gone.

“We were glitching a lot.” Anti protested.

“Annalise’s eyes didn’t go orange.” Dark said as the two of them headed back into the house.

“Did they?” Anti and Dark both stopped at Anti’s question.

“I didn’t check.” Dark said with fear in his voice.

“Shit! How do we explain orange eyes on our child? She doesn’t wear colored contacts, she can’t, she’s three!”

“There has to be a way to check.” Dark started running his hands through his hair. “The camera!”

“The camera?” Anti paused. “The camera!” Dark didn’t get to say more before Anti was gone.

Anti hated the feeling of being inside of older technology, everything just felt wrong. The currents weren’t as strong and it made him feel as if he wasn’t whole. He slowly moved the camera’s angle and saw that Annalise had fallen asleep in her seat. They’ve only been gone for a minute, how was she already out? How could she be out? Anti didn’t have to hear to know that the other children were screaming. Anti wished that the recording wasn’t in black and white, but hopefully, he’d be able to tell the difference between bright orange eyes and dark blue ones. Anti placed his hand on the small lens and sent out a soft spark, waking Annalise up. The little girl perked up and looked at the camera, knowing that her daddy was in there. Anti saw her mouth move and she pointed at the camera, her iris’ looking dark. Anti let out a silent sigh before leaving.

“Everything good?” Dark asked when Anti arrived in the office.

“She’s fine, but I hate those cameras.” Anti said, brushing off gray pixels that had lingered. “Now there’s going to be black spots because someone can’t upgrade a fucking camera.”

“We need to make sure Annalise isn’t glitching so much. She doesn’t know how to conceal her looks like we do.” Dark said.

“Annalise was asleep.” Anti said, ignoring Dark’s comment and sitting on the desk.

“And? What’s wrong with that?” Dark asked, holding a paper up to read it.

“I mean, she was out. It wasn’t just her dozing off. She was completely under like she hasn’t slept in days.” Anti said.

“Maybe she didn’t sleep well last night, it happens. We all have those nights.” Dark shrugged, not looking at his husband.  

“Dark, you know what I’m like when I haven’t charged in a while.”

“Yes, you get moody, you can’t control your pixels or glitching, you hallucinate, and you randomly...pass out.” Dark lowered the paper.

“I think she needs to charge.”

“She hasn’t charged in three years, maybe she doesn’t need it.” Dark suggested.

“She’s been taking energy from electronics instead of actually charging, which can work, but sometimes a proper charge can do so much.” Anti chewed at his lip. “Ann needs to charge.

“You just said she can take energy from electronics, she doesn’t have to go into the computer like you do.” Dark insisted.

“Why are you so scared of her going in a computer? I do it all the time.” Anti said.

“You’re a grown man who’s been doing that for years. She’s three.”

“I’ll go in with her. I won’t let her go into the internet, I’ll keep her out of files, we’ll just have you pull up a movie or something and we can just watch that.” Anti suggested.

“I don’t know.” Dark sighed.

“I won’t do it unless either you say I can or it becomes an emergency, but I’d prefer not to wait for an emergency.” Anti stood up and went behind Dark, rubbing his shoulders.

“Let me at least sleep on it and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.” Dark said, smiling a little when Anti pecked his cheek.

“I love it when we compromise.” Anti chuckled.

“Remember when we couldn’t even look at each other without screaming?” Dark turned his chair and caught Anti as he sat in his lap.

“I still remember those two days.” Anti leaned his head against Dark’s chest.

“You just kicked open the door to the meeting room and walked on in.” Dark started rubbing Anti’s back.

“‘We’re in the middle of a meeting, Antisepticeye’.” Anti said in a lower voice.

“‘Oh, I’m so scared of the edge-lord’.” Dark said in a teasing tone as he rubbed his nose into Anti’s neck, earning a light chuckle.

“I still owe Chase for that game controller I fucking destroyed.” Anti laughed.

“I’ll write him a check.” Dark hummed, giving Anti’s neck a kiss.

“Fuck you.” Anti said with a smirk.

“Fuck you.” Dark said back before they kissed.

“If we’re going to reminisce, we could at least do a repeat of our first time. I still have that song.” Anti said.

“I have no problem giving it to you like that again, but can we skip the song?” Dark asked as he stood, both men adjusting so Anti’s legs were wrapped around Dark’s waist and Dark’s hands were on Anti’s thighs.

“But we have to make it authentic.” Anti started singing as Dark carried him. “You come around when you find me faceless.”

“I’ll fuck you like I love you.” Dark said before closing their bedroom door.

                                                          x~x~x

Anti was curled up against Dark’s chest, both of them sound asleep in their dark and silent home. Everything was peaceful. Everything was calm.

A scream snapped both of them awake, Anti shouting himself and falling off of the bed.

“Annalise!” Dark and Anti both yelled before teleporting to their daughter’s room. Dark appeared in front of Annalise’s bed while Anti was in the center of the room, knives out and ready. The blinked against the darkness and saw that nothing was there. Anti went and flicked on the light, blinking against the change and seeing Annalise sitting up in her bed and bawling.

“What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” Dark asked, kneeling next to the bed.

“Closet man! Closet man!” Annalise screamed, pointing at her closet.

“Ann, honey, there’s nothing in your closet.” Anti said as he grabbed the handle to the closet.

“No! Daddy!” Annalise hid under her blanket when Anti opened the door, showing that clothing and toys were the only things in there.

“See? Everything’s fine.” Dark said. “You were just seeing things.”

“But...closet man.” Annalise rubbed her eyes and looked again. “He was there.”

“Everything’s okay, Annalise. Everything’s fine.” Dark took Annalise’s hands, rubbing his thumbs against the top of them. “Are you going to be able to go back to sleep?”

“Sleep with daddy and papa?” Annalise asked.

“Of course.” Dark picked Annalise up.

“Dark, did you lock Ann’s door?” Anti asked when he tried to leave the room.

“I must have accidentally.” Dark shrugged, watching Anti disappear into pixels and opening the door from the other side.

“Closet man.” Annalise said.

“There’s no closet man, it’s just the three of us.” Dark said as he walked out with Anti.

Annalise was the only one to see the blue pixels fall from the top of the closet.

Tag List: @readeatfightlove13 @kenzie-110101

[georgiabread]

98 or 99 ;3

simmer down

prompt: 98 - “Take a deep breath.”

a/n: for @p-hantasticpheels. this one is slightly longer and more average than i’d hoped, but i hope you enjoy it and thanks for asking ily :))

send me prompts!

Dan’s footis falling asleep under his bum. He can feel the pin-pricks like raindropsinside his socks. How long it’s stayed there, he doesn’t know. Two hours or so?He’s been immersed in his writing for a while; the butt chair has started toprod at his bones, and he can’t remember when it got dark. But he ignores thediscomfort of it all, eyes suction-cupped to the ironic fanfiction on hiscomputer screen.

But rightnow, he isn’t writing. Cumbersome fingers twitch against the surface of thekeys. His brain is blank, his imagination zone fizzled out. Three-quarters ofthe way in, his story comes to an abrupt stop mid-sentence. Dan has no ideawhere to go next.

He thoughta story with homoerotic undertones about Phil coming back from the dead as avampire would be easy to write. His audience does it every second day, andthey’re teenagers. But even creatingsomething this low-quality is a struggle. There are plot and characters tothink about, and there’s writer’s block and the actual forming of ideas. And Dan– eyes damp around the edges from the monitor’s glare, watching the cursor blinkon his document, willing the words to write themselves – feels on the verge ofgiving up.

A drawn-outsigh leaves his lips, and he mumbles, “I’ve been staring at this screen for toolong, are my eyes bleeding?”

Only a fewrooms away and crammed into a Skype window in the top right corner of hisscreen is Phil. Elbow on the desk, chin propped up in hand, he pauses for amoment and types something on his own computer. “That’s another sentence for Things Overheard,” he announcesunenthusiastically. “And yes. I can see it running down your face. Must be asign of sleep deprivation.”

“Oh, sodoff. D’ya wanna make me a coffee?”

“Dan, we’regetting dangerously close to one AM. I’m not making you a coffee.”

“Please, Phil. Or I’ll never get thisdone.”

“Nocaffeine at bedtime, you know that. Besides, you’re closest to the kitchen.”

“Rude. Ibet you’ve got five steps less than me. Go on.”

“You go on.I’m not your slave.” Phil stretcheshis mouth around the word.

“I’mliterally ten inches deep in this story right now. I can’t break focus.”

“I’mliterally ten inches deep in your mum.”

“Your dickisn’t that long, Phil.”

Phil’s faceshoots up, pixelated jaw plunging. Rife with scandal. Then he narrows his eyes.“Shut up. You’re just trying to change the subject.”

A sharplaugh bursts from Dan’s lips and simmers down to a giggle as he leans back inhis butt chair. He coos at the pout forming on Phil’s chin. “Sure, sure. Ormaybe the poor baby can’t handle the truth?”

“Close yourmouth, Dan Howell,” Phil murmurs, eyes flicking over his own screen. “And incase you missed it with all that smart-ass talk, you’re not having coffee.”

“Don’t callme a smart-ass,” Dan grumbles, but it’s punctured by a yawn.

“See!You’re tired,” Phil grins. “Now save the thing and come to bed.”

“Just giveme a few more minutes.”

“Nope. Thatstory will still be there tomorrow.”

“That’s thething. I don’t have time–”

“Stopmaking excuses, mister. Let’s go.”

“Phil, I’mnot–”

“Don’t makeme come over there.”

“Oh mygod.” Dan pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I will come to bedlater. Just let me finish the story.”

There’ssilence on the other end. Dan peers through his palms at the Skype window andfinds Phil giving him a pointed look, brows arched. And part of him knows Phil is right and he does want tosleep, but that’s overpowered by a bigger, prouder, more frustrated part thatwants to get this thing done. He hasto, now. Because tomorrow they have meetings and filming to do, and there’s aphotoshoot the day after, and he’ll procrastinate when he has free time and thedocument will sit untouched in his files for days.

Dan looksaway with a curt sigh, scuffing his fringe off his face. “Sorry. I’m writing.”

Thefanfiction frowns back at him. The hilarity of it dribbles away, and the morehe stares the faster it becomes only words and failure. He doesn’t want to makethis a big deal – it’s only a crappy story for their book. But their book is abig deal. It’s the most important thing he’s worked on in his life, and if thisisn’t perfect, then none of it is perfect.

Dan glancesat the Skype window again, and Phil is gone. Finally, he can let his shoulderssag and his eyelids droop. With nothing else to do, he hits the save button alittle too hard and slouches there. The cursor still flashes on the screen likean alarm, stirring anger into his exhaustion. He wants to erase everything he’swritten. He wants to scream.

And then –warm fingers squeezing his shoulder, moving to comb through his rumpled hair.

“Pleasecome to bed. You can do this in the morning,” Phil says softly.

Dan wantsnothing more than to close his eyes and lean into Phil’s touch, but his wordsrub off the wrong way. Dan’s shoulders harden. He doesn’t look away from thescreen. “You’re wrong, actually.”

Phil’sfingers falter for a second. “What do you mean? We’re not–”

“We havetwo meetings in the morning.”

“Oh.”There’s an exhale. “I forgot.”

“Yeah.Yeah, and did you forget we have gaming videos to film as well? And then I’mdoing god knows what. Fucking exercises. I don’t know. And a day-longphotoshoot the next day. If I don’t get this done right now, I never will,cause I’m shit at being organised and I hold things off as long as possible and– and we have – our editor wants to see what we’ve done so far but I haven’teven–”

“Dan. Hey–”

“It’s just– it’s just not going to fucking work, Phil,”Dan cries. “So don’t tell me I can finish it later because I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t fucking doanything, it’s all just–” His voicestretches into a wail and his eyes grow wet and it’s not because of the screen.

Philcrouches against the chair, holds his arm. “Dan. Dan, Dan, Dan. Take a deepbreath, okay? It’ll be fine.”

“It won’tbe fucking fine. I need to–”

“No. I needyou to calm down. Look at me. Deep breath, that’s it. That’s good.”

Dan givesin, closes his eyes and sucks air into his lungs, face red with frustration. Hegrabs onto Phil’s hand anyway. Then – the dam breaks, and a tired sob burstsfrom his throat. Phil runs his fingers up and down his arm.

When hisshoulders lose their tremble, Dan stands shakily in search of a hug and Philmeets him there. He tucks his face into Phil’s chest, feeling stupid andguilty but losing himself in the warmth of the arms around his waist and thegradual calm around his heart. His muscles loosen as Phil rubs circles on thesmall of his back. With a sniffle, Dan considers falling asleep right there. But he just–

“I’msorry,” he blurts, muffled by the fabric of Phil’s shirt. He twists his fingersaround it. “I didn’t…I’m tired. I just wanted to finish it.”

Phil’sfingers slip into his hair and brush through the curls.  “I know. It’s okay, you don’t have toexplain.”

“I’m sorryfor getting angry at you.”

Philpresses his lips to Dan’s temple. “That’s okay too.”

Dan scrubsat the tear stains on his cheeks before resting his forehead on Phil’s shoulder.Then he remembers the fanfiction. It glowers at him from across the room.“Dammit. What am I gonna do?” he whimpers.

“Well,right now you’re going to sleep for several hours,” Phil says. “And when we gethome tomorrow, after you do your exercises, you can sit down to write with afresh mind. We don’t have to meet our editor until Saturday, so that gives youtime anyway.”

Dan shifts andkisses an exposed bit of skin, just above his collar. “Okay. I love you. Thankyou for putting up with all my melodramatic shit.”

“Youremotions are perfectly valid, Dan. And I love you too, despite them,” Phil says,stepping back and tucking his partner’s fringe back into place. He smilessoftly at the tenderness in Dan’s eyes. “Now, I think it’s bedtime for you.”