#anyway words stopped being comprehensive long ago. time to stop

[existencebringsonlypain]

Well, now you've got me REALLY thinking. The prophecy was told by Ralsei. Ralsei repeatedly has shown attempts to try to make the game "fun" for the player. So who knows if this prophecy is legit at all, it could just be a plot device Ralsei is using to entertain us, hence Ralsei's other prediction not being common knowledge, at least to Queen. But it also raises the question, does Ralsei know WE know we aren't Kris? Because if he's just telling this prophecy to give us a goal, not knowing we're aware of the separation, then he'd probably just put Kris as the image. It'd make no sense to us otherwise.

Alternatively, Ralsei doesn't know at this point. The prophecy doesn't describe the appearances of the Delta Warriors, so Ralsei's just filling in with what he has. If he wasn't aware of the SOUL's presence, then of course he'd just put Kris.

I'd be more likely to choose the former, given how Ralsei already seems to have some knowledge of things he shouldn't at this point. He knows Susie's name, for one.

A HUMAN,

A MONSTER,

And a PRINCE FROM THE DARK

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Twenty-One

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: More angst, but of the wolfy-variety!

Notes: I know I said two chapters before Jasper, but I had to fit this one in which is why I’m posting out of my normal window. Trust the process when it comes to why I did what I did this chapter lol and if you don’t spot it, everything will be fine (famous last words). Honestly I think I’m just healing inner me with how I wish conversations should’ve happened in the movie lol

Word Count: 2401

Series Masterlist

• March 8th, 2006 • Home •

Reader

Time starts to pass by a little easier with Quil, the quiet isn’t as deafening even when there’s a comfortable silence. I think the same could be said for Quil, since all of his Rez friends have gone AWOL.

Our days are usually spent under blankets on my couch, watching movies and just being present for each other. Plus, there’s not much to do in this tiny ass town anyways.

“Heard anything?” I ask him tentatively, hopefully.

He shakes his head solemnly in response, eyes never leaving the tv. The fact that he doesn’t even want to talk about Jake or Embry twists a new little knife in my gut.

“I’m okay, Y/n/n.” The grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes and I hate it.

“It’s okay to miss them, I know it’s hard to be stuck with just me now-”

“Don’t.” He reaches over to grab my ankle since I’m facing him on the couch and drags it to his lap, “You’re here and they’re not. I was friends with them longer and they ditched me for other dudes. I’m where I want to be.”

“You don’t have to hold it all in, I’m familiar with that feeling.” I nudge his hand with my socked foot to get him to look at me. “What good am I if I don’t therapize you too?”

“That would insinuate I do anything for you, you won’t talk about him.” His gaze levels on me and I’m caught red handed.

“There’s not much to it, I-I loved him and he’s gone. End of story.” I pick at the loose strings on my blanket, the topic hard for me to meet his eyes.

“There’s everything to it.” He squeezes my foot, “Not end of story, you deserve to vent just as much as I do. You don’t need to feel guilty for grieving him, heartache is a real bitch.”

“Heartache is a bitch, huh?” I huff a laugh as I try to breathe through the tears that want to spring up.

“Y/n, I’m the loneliest guy on the planet. In the male friends department and the girlfriend department, don’t make fun of me.” His lighthearted tone trying and failing to make light of his situation.

“We’re just fucked, aren’t we?” His brown eyes meet mine as we commiserate in our collective sadness.

His head drops back against the back of the couch, “Beyond comprehension, my dear Y/n/n.”

• March 11th, 2006 • Home •

Reader

My finger hovers over a text to Quil, asking him to come over, when I get a call from my other best friend.

“Bells, hey-”

“I need backup.” Her request draws me up short. “I’m going to the Rez-I need to see Jacob.”

“Bella, he’s with Sam now-”

“I don’t care anymore, you in?” She presses.

“I was in the second you called, I’ll be waiting outside.”

“Good, because I’m almost there.” Hanging up the phone, I grab a jacket and my shoes.

So much for the first day of Spring Break, might as well start it off with a bang.

•March 11th, 2006 • Quileute Indian Reservation•

Reader

Bella slid to a stop in Jacob’s driveway and both of us hopped out, memories of bike-building settling like a weight in my stomach. It wasn’t even that long ago and I miss it, I miss Jacob.

Bella knocks on the glass pane of his front door and Billy Black answers, “Bella?”

“I need to see him.”

“He-,” glancing between us briefly, “he’s not in.” The lie blatantly obvious.

“I’m sorry,” Bella pushes past his wheelchair and inside the house, “I really need to see him.”

I remain awkwardly on the front porch, torn between not wanting to intrude or following my friend.

“Bella!” Billy’s warning is ineffective as she storms to Jacob’s room.

Just when the situation couldn’t possibly get worse, I spot four shirtless figures emerging from the forest by the house, Sam’s group.

I hear the back door open and shut and I just know it’s Bella.

I sprint around the house to catch up to her, “Bella!” But my warning falls on deaf ears, she’s on a warpath for the boys. “Shit.” I mutter under my breath.

Stomping up to the tallest - Sam, “What did you do?” She pushes his chest, hard. “What did you do, huh? What did you do to him?!”

“Hey - watch it!” The other two guys plus Embry shout as they step up around their leader.

“Easy.” The word is more of a growl than anything and it causes the hair on the back of my neck to rise.

If this comes to a fight, we’re fucked.

“He didn’t want this!” Her desperation pulls at my heart.

“What did we do? What did he do? What did he tell you?” The questions from the guy to Sam’s right are rapid-fire, his anger clearly volatile.

“He tells me nothing, because he’s scared of you!”

The same guy barks out a laugh, clearly he finds her concern for Jacob silly.

“Bella, let’s go home-” but my plead immediately goes unheard because she throws a fucking right hook for the guys face, son of a bitch.

“Too late now.” Another guy jokes, clearly enjoying the situation.

“Bella, get back!” Sam orders, trying to diffuse the situation as this guy begins to shake.

I grab her arm and we slowly start to retreat for her truck, too scared to turn and take our eyes off of the angry male.

“Bella…” I whisper, unsure of what to do.

“Paul! Calm down now.” The authority in Sam’s voice rings through the backyard, but it’s too late somehow.

The shaking and heavy breathing from Paul leads to a transformation that snatches my breath from my body - a wolf. And not just any wolf, a wolf from the fucking meadow. A wolf that saved us from Laraunt, now standing before us where Paul was.

Where Paul was.

Paul is a wolf. A really big one at that - a really big angry one.

Anger directed at Bella and by association, me. The death grip I have on her fucking arm has to be painful, but the menacing look in his eyes shocks me to my bones.

Bella moves before I do, using my tight grip on her to yank me into action with her as she makes for Jacob’s house.

“Bella! Y/n!” Jake yells, clearing the back porch railing in one leap, sprinting for us.

“Run! Jake, run!” Bella screams back at him, but he charges towards us anyways.

He jumps last minute before he reaches us and I trip trying to follow his path with my eyes before-

Before he turns into a fucking wolf too.

Jacob Black, our best friend, is a wolf? I mean, vampires are definitely a thing, but wolves?

Squaring off with Paul, both the russet-colored wolf and the silver-grey wolf launch for each other. Snapping and snarling as they roll into the woods, my heart painfully thumps in my chest, Jacob.

“Hey, take the girls back to Emily’s place.” Sam orders Embry and the last remaining male, both of them jogging over to us.

“I guess the wolf’s out of the bag.” They joke, ushering us up and towards Bella’s truck.

They’re wolves, Sam’s gaggle of Rez boys are fucking wolves. Jacob is one of them and so is Embry, what about Quil? Is this why they’ve ditched him, ditched us? Wolves can’t be friends with humans? What do I even tell him, or should I tell him anything?

My mind is racing a million miles an hour in the span of seconds with questions I desperately need answers to.

Embry holds open the passenger side door to Bella’s truck with a smile and I walk right past his invitation to climb in the bed with the newly acquainted Jared.

“Y/n, that’s not safe-”

“I’ll be fine.” I don’t even spare a glance at him with my monotone answer, I’m mad at him for how he’s treating Quil.

Jared raises his eyebrows and quirks a grin. “Feisty, I like it.”

Embry huffs as he shuts the door behind Bella and rounds the truck for the driver’s side, “Don’t encourage her, man.”

• March 11th, 2006 • Uley Residence •

Reader

“Hey I think we should go back and see if Jacob’s okay.” Bella rolls down her window as the rest of us hop out of her truck.

“I hope Paul sinks some teeth in him, serves him right.” Jared quips to Embry.

“No way! Jacob’s a natural, you see him phase on the fly? I got five that says Paul doesn’t even touch him.” Embry argues, “C’mon in Bella! We won’t bite.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jared jokes and I shove him as we turn to walk inside.

“Oh hey, about Emily - Sam’s fiancé? Don’t stare, it bugs Sam.” Embry warns both of us before following Jared.

“Why would we stare?” Bella asks and I shrug, just as confused.

“You guys hungry? Like I have to ask.” The female in the kitchen asks the boys, laughing at what must be an inside joke. “Who’s this?” She asks after turning around, glancing between us.

“Bella Swan and Y/n Y/l/n.” Jared answers her.

“Hmm… So, you’re the vampire girl-well, girls.” I instantly admire her easy-going vibe, diving straight in to acknowledge the elephant in the room to get it over with.

“So you’re the wolf girl?” Bella asks in return, accepting her olive branch.

“Guess so,” smiling to herself, she picks up the largest platter I’ve ever seen of muffins, “Well, I’m engaged to one.” Snatching both Embry and Jared’s hands as they reach- “Save some for your brothers! And ladies first, muffin?” It’s comical, the way she mothers them.

“Thank you, Emily.” I smile at her and sit across from Jared, the muffin still warm from the oven.

“Leave it to Jacob to find a way around Sam’s gag order.” Emily scoffs, not surprised.

“Umm, he didn’t… Say anything to us.” Glancing at me, Bella explains.

“That’s a wolf thing, alpha’s orders get obeyed whether we want ‘em to or not. Oh and check it out - we can hear each other’s thoughts.” Embry brags and I gape, this is all fucking wild.

“Would you shut up! These are trade secrets - damnit, these chicks run with vampires!” Jared’s frustration is lighthearted as he admonishes Embry for giving away some of their abilities.

“Can’t really run with vampires,” Emily and I chuckle at the boys not quite catching on, “Because they’re fast.”

“Yeah? Well we’re faster. Freaked out yet?”

“You’re not the first monsters we’ve met.”

“Jake’s right, you’re good with weird.” Sam nods at us, beelining for Emily as soon as he steps in the door. He presses kisses to her lips and then all over her face, causing her to giggle. The obvious display of affection carving out my heart just a little bit more - looking away I set my muffin down, no longer hungry.

Pushing and shoving each other, Paul and Jacob finally show - unhurt and brotherly even. They just beat the shit out of each other and they’re tighter than ever? Boys.

“Sorry.” Paul apologizes and flashes what has to be his signature smile at both of us.

I catch Jacob jerking his head towards the door and Bella follows, probably off to explain this whole entire shit show. I turn my gaze to Embry and level a glare on my former friend, waiting for him to say something.

“You going to let me explain? Or are you going to look at me like you’d like to castrate me until Bella gets back?” Embry stares right back, munching on another muffin.

“Jared?” I look at him sweetly and he grins, “take me home?”

Embry stands so quick and his chair teeters dangerously on two legs for a moment. “Y/n.” His tone is hard, done with this game.

“Embry.” I match him back.

He walks out the front door and it drags me from my own chair, this blowout long overdue.

“You know now and you’re still fucking mad at me?” He turns, leaning against Bella’s truck and folding his arms.

“I don’t even know where to start, Embry!” I yell at him exasperated. “You ditched us, you ditched your longest running best friend-”

“I had no choice!”

“He’s struggling-”

“I’m struggling!” His eyes are wild and his hands have a slight shake, “Cutting everyone out has been the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done! I can’t tell anyone, can’t see anyone, can’t do what I want to do anymore! I belong to this Reservation, to this pack, to Sam now. He says jump, I ask how high. He says keep your mouth shut, I cut everyone out. It’s how it has to be.”

“Embry, that’s no way to live.” My heart breaks for his situation.

“It’s in my blood and not something I can opt out of, Y/n/n. Besides, they’re my brothers now and they need me as much as I need them.”

I surge forward to hug him, “I’m still mad at you for Quil.”

“I missed you too.” I hear his grin as I hug him tight. “You can’t tell him though.”

Immediately I retreat, “What?”

“It’s a tribe secret, the pack is sacred and must be protected.”

“He wouldn’t done anything to endanger-”

“It doesn’t matter, anyone on the outside has to stay on the outside. It’s not like I don’t want to, he’s my best fucking friend. But he doesn’t have a need-to-know.”

“Embry-”

“I can’t argue with you about this, please drop it.” His wide eyes plead with me and I surrender.

“Okay, okay. Consider it dropped.” I mime like I’m locking my lips closed and I toss the invisible key over my shoulder.

“Good,” throwing an arm over my shoulder, he leads me back inside, “Now you can hang with the big dogs.”

“Okay I’m going to need you to not make stupid jokes about this situation.” But I laugh anyways, I miss this - him.

I smile to myself, happy to finally have people back in my life that I thought were gone for good. I still feel the massive hole in my chest, but the pain is on the back burner for now.

At least until I’m alone again.

Next

Taglist Part 1:

@aoi-targaryen @Min-jianhyung @pbbsl @timelordhunterandmysterysolver @sheerangermany @clearwater-hoe @Blackbluerose666 @ivy-plays @random-human02 @delightfulbluebirdstarlight @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gaymazinglula @l3ejm @angelfuzzy2 @losa12308 @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @flyawayprincess @ropickle @catbusloki @deviat3dsn0wf0x @lovesanimals0000 @unrevived @h-naec @cutesnakemum @zudooms @itsmytimetoodream @stinkii-boii @acoolnight @anothercoffeeblogx @irishblend10 @from-now-on-im-switzerland @kyraslife2 @naolvshan @kiiwiigii @rosedpetal @kiaraandrea @foolsgoldxo @heartfilia01 @azuredgalaxies @geekysimmerthings @graciereads @ramen-girl-2424 @0hmydekiru @creeqvealley @cherriebat @whichwitchisthebitch @dragon-rider-with-a-book @secretfairytailpetscookie @psychobitchsthings

[elvispresleywife]

To my Darling...Thankyou and we miss you.

To many people today is just another ordinary day. To Elvis fans? It's the saddest day of the year(at least for me). It's so hard to act like you're fine. Or to try and get people to understand....because they don't. Elvis Presley, our boy. Our baby. Our man. Died today on August 16th 1977. 47 years this year. And yet it feels like I was there the day it happened just a few days ago. 42 was too young. I literally haven't been able to profess his passing all month. I've avoided it. It makes me so sad I can't even describe it. I can't even describe my love. My adoration. My overall feelings for this man. It's beyond comprehension and beyond my vocabulary capacity. To me Elvis is so much more than an entertainer. A musician. The greatest singer of all time. An actor. To me Elvis Presley is one of the kindest, most generous, beautiful, purest, gentleist, humorous, spiritual and loyal souls I have ever known/heard of. (I know I didn't know him but it feels like I did) He is so important to me. I have no words for how much I love him and how much he means to me. Nor how much sadness and pain this day brings my soul. Elvis has been there in both the happy and sad times. I've felt him here and there. I know he watches over me. He's with me everywhere I go. I can't describe the immense pain and sadness I feel when I think of this time. I try to avoid it. I listened to Gingers audiobook recently on her memoir and when it got to the last chapter of how she saw him that morning...I stopped it. I won't listen to it. Any video I come across of his funeral, or the news report of that day I skip. Even the audio recording of Vernon talking about Elvis after he died and thanking all the fans for their support I can't watch/listen to. It just makes me too emotional. And I love watching his concerts but the one on June 26th 1977 makes me cry every single damn time. I can't help it. I see him and knowing that's the last time we were ever going to see him alive and the fact it's his last concert makes me so sad. Knowing he was actually trying to better himself and talking to Billy Smith about getting better and how he was excited to go on tour and his wedding plans with Ginger...it all makes me heartbroken. Not to mention he left behind his beautiful 9 year old daughter. I just can't. Anyway. I'm sure I could have written this better but this is my honest thoughts and feelings.

So Thankyou so much baby. For everything. Thankyou for being with me in the good and bad times. I love you baby so much. You have my whole heart forever and always. Thankyou for all you did for us. We will always love you and always be grateful for everything you did. You're an inspiration to generations. You never thought you'd be here. Remembered this long down the track. But guess what? You did it baby. I love you so much.

❤️❤️❤️❤️

[toujokaname]

Mischief / Episode 1

Characters: Rinne, HiMERU, Kohaku, Niki

"But it's kinda creepy... Bein' loved or hated by folks I don't even know, in places I ain't never heard of. Guess that's just what bein' an idol's all about, huh?"

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[ Read on my site for a better viewing experience using Ois~su ♪ ]

Season: Spring

Location: Café Cinnamon

Rinne: Yo, yo~♪

Still as cozy as ever, huh? You PBB lovebirds! Shoutout to the most lovey-dovey couple of the year! Gyahahahaha! ☆

HiMERU: It's really quite the talent how you've mastered the art of making others feel so uncomfortable the instant you open your mouth.

Rinne: Haah? I'm praising you, so rejoice, will ya? Thanks to you two, Crazy:B's having a once-in-a-lifetime jackpot streak!

C'mon, look at my phone! The notifications just won't stop dinging!

HiMERU: Is it because you're getting canceled again?

Rinne: No waaay, I've already been locked outta all my accounts 'cause I kept getting canceled.

These notifs? They're job offers for us.

People're begging for Crazy:B to show up on their shows, movies, interviews, photoshoots—

The offers are rollin' in like cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-chiiing!

Kohaku: Wow, sounds just like one of those pachinko machines.

Rinne: Pretty much what it feels like! It's not every day you get to cash in this big, right?

Though honestly, part of me's thinking, "What's goin' on all of a sudden? This is creepy as hell."

Not so long ago, everyone was like, "Crazy:B's gotta die!" Hated our guts, wouldn't give us any gigs—remember?

Niki: Nom, nom, nom... Maybe the public's finally recognizing all the hard work we put in last year?

Kohaku: I was wonderin' why you'd been so quiet after comin' in with Rinne-han. You're eatin' again, Niki-han...?

Niki: I've gotta eat all the time! Or I'll die!

Kohaku: So you've already got the lifestyle of an insect or somethin'.

Niki: Anyway, I don't really get it, but isn't more work a good thing? Maybe it's 'cause our latest Matrix got good reviews?

Rinne: They haven't even aired all the episodes yet. The reviews aren't bad, but y'know, people keep saying, "Well, considering it's Akan-san’s project..." It's basically just like that.

Niki: Hmm... We worked our butts off for that, so I hope it ends up with a good rep. It'd make our struggles feel a little more rewarded.

Rinne: Well, it's rare for stuff like karmic retribution to happen in society. It's always been the case that ill weeds grow apace, while good people get screwed over. Life's a piece of shit like that.

HiMERU: Those words carry a certain weight coming from you, Amagi.

Rinne: So yeah, this time around, it's best to think of it as just dumb luck.

HiMERU: Meaning?

Rinne: Meaning that it ain't like we worked our asses off, poured blood, sweat and tears into doing our best, and got rewarded for being earnest.

It's like tripping over a winning lottery ticket.

If you start seeing causality in that, next thing you know, you'll end up like me—acting all unnaturally nice to everyone before hitting the pachinko parlor, and creeping people out.

That's just me tryna stack up some good karma, hoping for a fat payoff in return.

It ain't like I got reincarnated as a kind-hearted, good person.

Niki: Wow, I don't get it when you use pachinko analogies! Sooo, toss in a food metaphor for me to chew on instead!

Rinne: Mm, but if we start on food, we'll get sidetracked. Y'know how when you're feeling happy, food often tastes better? There's a sort of cause-and-effect relationship, yeah?

HiMERU: —In short, what you're trying to say is, "this is just a fluke, so don't get too carried away."

Rinne: Yup, bingo! ♪ Maaan, it's always a relief how good at comprehension you are, Merumeru!

HiMERU: That's because there's always a very incomprehensible person nearby. Constantly.

However, it seems like this PBB thing really has become a big deal...

Since it's all happening online, it's easy to feel like it doesn't actually affect reality.

Rinne: Well, it ain't like the internet's some kinda isekai, y'know. It's connected to reality, no doubt about it.

And aren't there a lotta people these days who feel like the internet's more real than reality?

Kohaku: Uh. So, we're talkin' about how Crazy:B's gettin' a buncha jobs, and it's all 'cause of this PBB thing?

Rinne: I dunno what else could've caused it. All the requests are like, "we want HiMERU-kun and Oukawa-kun, the super popular PBB, on our show," and stuff like that.

Kohaku: We're really that popular... Me and HiMERU-han, huh...

Hmm, I guess that... I'm right pleased folks love me and all, but not knowin' why makes me kinda uneasy.

Niki: Not gonna lie, it's none of my business, so I don't really care~♪

Rinne: Me neither~♪

Kohaku: These guys... Well, I guess if we're gettin' more work and it's all good stuff, I don't really got any complaints.

But it's kinda creepy... Bein' loved or hated by folks I don't even know, in places I ain't never heard of.

Guess that's just what bein' an idol's all about, huh?

[ ☆ ]

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[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode Origins — Vera

tw: none

wanna read the extended story? here’s the table of contents!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT THE NEXT CHAPTER OF PROJECT KILLCODE, THIS IS BACKGROUND FOR VERA.

(also I wrote this a long time ago when I was first starting to play with her character — like hundred days long ago, so that’s why the writing style might be inconsistent.)

SIX YEARS PRIOR TO THE BEGINING OF PROJECT: KILLCODE

VERA LEVANTE, EIGHT YEARS OLD, HOPPED DOWN THE STAIRS ON A SUNNY WEDNESDAY MORNING. It was the beginning of summer. The fifth day of it, actually, since she’d been let out of Redwood Academy for vacation. But that wasn’t what mattered… that wasn’t what made the day so special.

It was her eighth birthday.

And her parents were home.

She couldn’t remember the last time her parents had been home on her birthday — she was too little then to remember. They always worked a lot. But now, today, on her eighth birthday, both cars were in the driveway when she peered through her blinds. Her mother and her father.

She hopped down the stairs with a nearly contagious excitement about her, ignoring their rules about being careful on the steps. Surely they wouldn’t mind today.She’d tried her best to dress herself. A pink polo and a white skirt, although she couldn’t really tuck the shirt in right and the buttons near the neckline were all one hole too high. She hadn’t even attempted to make her rats nest of brown waves look decent. She didn’t care about that, because her parents were home.

Her socks slid when she hopped down onto the hardwood floor from the carpeted stairs, but she was too excited to care. She half-skipped through their suave, expensive living-room, toward the massive double doors that led to her dads office. As she grew closer to the mahogany barrier, she could hear typing. Her father on the computer.

Without sparing a second to knock, she shoved the door open, glancing around the large room. A massive desk sat in the center, covered with papers and electronics, and bookshelves outlined the rest of the room, displaying literature and trinkets. Her father was staring at the computer screen in front of him, typing furiously with an annoyed expression on his face, brown eyes shining with irritation. He was already dressed in a full suit, per usual. Vera didn’t care. She weaseled her way around the desk, drifting up to her fathers side, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

“G’morning, dad!” The child smiled, fighting back a yawn that ended up taking over her small features anyway. Her father didn’t look over at her, nor did his hands leave the keyboard.

“Vera,” He responded flatly, obviously engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

The little girl beamed at the simple acknowledgment, leaning over to lay across her father’s lap in boredom. “Do you know-“

Vera stopped speaking when her father held a finger up, pulling his vibrating phone out of his pocket. He answered it with haste. “Hey, George.”

Vera huffed, bringing her fingers up to fiddle with them until her father was off the phone. She stayed, bent across her fathers lap in boredom for one, two, three minutes, listening to him speak about opportunity cost — something Vera didn’t understand but pretended was some secret superhero stuff.

“Go see your mother,” Her father held the cell away from his mouth as he whispered, attempting to brush Vera off his lap like a bug. “I have a virtual meeting in a few minutes.”

Vera rolled off her fathers lap like a ragdoll, sitting on top of the ugly office rug momentarily. She watched her father talk on the phone. His eyes were trained on the computer, fingers dancing across the keys at a pace Vera could only wish to achieve, words too long for the child’s comprehension spilling from his lips just as fast. Only when he waved a hand toward her did she remember he’d asked her to leave.

Surely the meeting wouldn’t last so long. She’d had friends at school whose parents had to work on their birthdays, and they spent the whole evening with them. So she wasn’t worried.

She drifted back out of the office, returning to close the door once her father scolded her softly for leaving it open. She tugged at the front of her shirt — which was starting to look increasingly odd thanks to the buttons being fastened wrong — and made her way toward the kitchen. Her mom was probably in there.

But in fact, she wasn’t. The pristine countertops, expensive wooden cabinets, highest-end appliances all sat untouched that morning. With a light shrug, she kept walking, down the hall that led to her parents bedroom. She heard shuffling and movement from inside. Bingo!

The door was open, so she didn’t bother knocking before she walked inside. The room was huge, double the size of her room, with a giant bed in the center. Their walk-in closets sat open, and two suitcases were laying on the bed. Her mother was packing clothes into them. She scrunched her face up.

“Are we going somewhere?” Vera questioned, stepping in an odd rhythm over to the bed, where she hopped up onto the white sheets. Her mother looked at her, long, brown hair falling over her shoulder as she did so. 

“Vera. You startled me,” She stated with a sigh, placing a pile of folded clothes in the suitcase. “Have your brother fix you breakfast, I don’t have much time to pack.”

Vera scrunched her face up again. “Noah isn’t here. He hasn’t been here in, like, a week. A month, maybe!” She stated, tucking her hair back out of her eyes. It’d actually only been four days since she saw her brother's car pull out and not return, but it felt like a long time. All her mother said was: “Oh.”

“Where are we going?”

“Well, I was going to leave you with Noah, but I guess not. Your father and I had some pop up meetings rescheduled from later in the year. Super sudden,” She explained. Vera deflated slightly.

“But you’re coming back before dinner? Because it’s my-“

“Can you grab my phone and call your Aunt Jamie, please? It’s on the nightstand,” She pointed across the bed with a folded shirt in her hand.

Vera crawled over the suitcases and over to the white nightstand, grabbing her mother’s large, thin phone off of it. Typing in a password she knew by heart — from playing games while her parents did other things — she navigated to the little phone icon, and found her aunt’s name. She tapped it.

It only took two of three rings before her father’s younger sister picked up with a loud: “Hey-hey, Cherry.” His mother’s name.

Vera put the phone on speaker and sat it on the bed.

“Keep a hold on your tongue, Jamie, Vera can hear you,” Her mother deadpanned.

“Hey-hey, V! Happy-“

“I need to drop her off at your house today. Emergency meetings,” Vera frowned when her mother cut short the first birthday wish she would’ve received all morning. “We’ll be over in twenty.”

She heard her aunt snicker. “Okie dokie. How long is she gonna stay?”

It wasn’t rare for Vera to stay at her aunt’s. She spent a lot of time there — some of her clothes even stayed there. That’s always where she went when her parents were caught up with work… which was just about always. Her parents had been fighting with Jamie a lot recently. About something called custody, a word Vera didn’t know.

“I’m not sure. At least a week, maybe two,”

Vera’s eyes flicked up to her mother. “You’re not coming back today?”

“No, honey. It’ll take us almost all day just to make it there,” She whispered quickly.

“All good!” Aunt Jamie chimed from the phone, unable to hear Vera’s mother whispering. Vera’s eyes trailed down to the comforter she was sitting on. Surely this was a trick. She’d remembered that once before, Layla’s parents tricked her by pretending to forget her birthday, and then surprised her with a big party later -- Vera had been there. So she wasn’t worried.

“Thank you,” Her mother continued, reaching and pressing the red button that ended the call. “Go pack whatever you want.”

Vera nodded. If this was a big trick, she may as well play along. She tried to hide the small smile that spread across her face at the thought of them throwing her a big party, hopping off the bed and hip-hopping her way all the way back to her room. She had to make them believe she didn’t know about the trick, so she packed just like normal.

“Vera! Come on, baby, time to go!” Her mother’s voice came from downstairs. She hopped back down with a backpack holding a lifetime supply of toys, following her mother out the door. Her mother only had her purse, not the suitcases. So it was a trick.

They went to the car, where she sat in the backseat and listened to some tunes while her mother drove. Maybe the party was at her aunt’s house. That would make sense — her parents didn’t like having many people over. Too much expensive stuff in their house that could get broken. Her aunt’s house was big and nice, too — six bedrooms, one of which basically belonged to Vera — but it wasn’t so fragile. They could have fun in it without worrying about breaking something.

When they pulled up at her aunt’s house, her mother turned around in the driver’s seat. “Be good, I love you.”

Vera, who’d fully convinced herself she was about to walk into a surprise party, cocked her head, blinking in confusion. “You’re not coming?”

“I don’t have time, babe. Go ahead,”

“Is… the trick over?” She asked.

“Trick? What trick?” Her mother questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Vera, go ahead. I need to get going. Your father and I have to be in Brighton by six. We’ll see you when we get back, okay? Jamie will take great care of you like she always does. I’ll watch you get to the front door.”

Vera’s hope faded quickly. They hadn’t forgotten her birthday. They couldn’t have. Parents don’t… they don’t just forget their kids' birthdays.

With one last shred of hope that her mother would hop out of the car and yell surprise, Vera climbed out onto the sidewalk ahead of her aunt’s house. One foot in front of the other, she made it to the front door. It was already unlocked. She lifted her hand and twisted the knob, and it creaked open.

She glanced inside. No balloons, no streamers, nothing.

She glanced back, and her mother’s car was already gone.

It wasn’t a trick?

“Vera!” Her aunt, a tall, pretty woman with dark hair and even darker eyes came rushing toward her, scooping her up and spinning her around. “Happy birthday! We’re about to have the funnest day you’ve ever had in your life! We can call Layla and-”

While getting assaulted with affection, Vera peered out the window one last time, just to make sure her mother wasn’t turning around. 

There were no cars.

They really had forgotten.

Vera felt something burning, and she didn’t realize it was the back of her eyes until she started crying. Aunt Jamie released her immediately, and the girl brought her hands up to her eyes, the quiet tears quickly turning into quiet hiccups and sniffs.

“Oh God, did I hurt you?” Her aunt questioned, quickly appearing in front of Vera on her knees. Her hands hovered over Vera’s arms, not touching him.

“I… I… m-mom… and… m-mom-“ Vera herself could hardly even tell what she was saying through her own muffled sobs.

Jamie grabbed her wrists gently, pulling her hands away from her face. “Hey, V, take a breath. Tell me what’s going on.”

She drew in a few shaky breaths on her aunt’s command, just enough to make her sentence understandable. “M-mom and dad f-forgot that it’s my-my birthday.”

A few emotions — anger, frustration — flashed across Jamie’s face, before she settled on one of compassion. It seemed she didn’t know what to say, so she just drew the girl into her arms and stood, picking her up off the floor.

Vera hugged around her neck and hid her face away in the woman’s shoulder, sobbing quietly there. Jamie comforted lowly: “I know, sweetheart. I know. I’ve got you.”

Parents didn’t forget their kids birthdays.

She didn’t try to make excuses for Vera’s parents, nor did she try to come up with solutions or distractions to ease the girl's crying. She just held her, which, even if she didn’t realize it, Vera was grateful for. “I’ve got you.”

Vera’s spirits were low for a good portion of the day, but that didn’t stop Jamie from facilitating whatever activities she wanted for her birthday. After a while of back rubs and comforting words, they decided to go bowling with Layla and get ice cream. Vera was happier, then, but Jamie could still sense the hurt behind the girl’s eyes, the silent longing for her parents to be with them, too.

By the end of the day, Vera was alright. She fell asleep on the way back from the bowling alley — it was getting dark, anyway — so Jamie carried her inside and laid her on the living room couch.

The eight-year-old only woke up enough to hear Jamie speaking to someone. Probably on the phone.

“-even know what today is?” Jamie asked quietly. The sheer silence in the house allowed Vera to faintly hear the voice on the other end.

“May thirtieth,” It was Vera’s father. She’d know his phone voice anywhere.

“Your daughter’s birthday!” Jamie raised her voice only slightly, venom dripping from her tongue. “Your kid came into my house crying this morning because you forgot it was her birthday. How is that even possible?!”

“Because I have a real job. Unlike you. What is it you do, spend hours frolicking around inside a bunch of empty houses?”

“Being an agent makes me happy. Not sure I can say the same about your corporate job,” Jamie hissed.

“Just stop worrying about Vera, okay? She’s my problem, not yours,”

“She’s not your problem, she’s your daughter!” Jamie nearly shouted, but Vera heard her take a few breaths and calm herself. “Just… she was hurting this morning. I shouldn’t be the one to be there for her every time something happens.”

“You’re not,”

There was a huff. “She spends more time here at my house than she does at home. I don’t want her to grow up like us, J, I want her to have parents.”

“Don’t you dare start whipping out nicknames from our childhood, Jamie. She does have parents,” Vera’s father spat. “Parents that work to support her.”

“She doesn’t need you to grind so you can buy her the nicest things, she just needs you,”

Vera’s father made a growling noise. “I’m so tired of getting calls from you telling me how to raise my daughter. You don’t have any experience with children of your own!”

“I… think I’ve done a pretty good job raising yours,” Jamie said quietly. “Half of her closet is here. During the school year I pick her up and drop her off and do everything Redwood asks of parents. Every time you go out of town, she comes here to me. Have you even realized that you’ve spent more days out of town this year than in town? Almost double, actually.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I keep track of when Vera stays with me,” Her aunt explained, and Vera heard something make a clack noise. “I just… I don’t want her to grow up like we did. We had to raise ourselves. I want her to have a better life than us.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do by working for it,”

“At the expense of your relationship with her?”

There was a stiff, long silence, during which Vera only heard herself breathing. 

“Fine, Jamie. Fine. You win. If you want Vera so bad, take her. We’ll go to court when we return and hand custody over, since you find yourself so entitled to it.”

Another long pause. 

“Wh… what?” Jamie stammered softly. “That’s… not what I’m saying.”

“You heard me,”

“No… no, Jared, I don’t… I don’t want her, she’s… yours,”

“Weren’t you just yelling at me for not wanting her?”

“No, I mean… I didn’t mean that. I just meant… I want her to have a mom and a dad, not an aunt that passes for them. I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t want to take her from you, that’s not what I’m trying to do. Please, I’m… I’m sorry. I’ll stop calling you,” Jamie backpedaled.

Vera’s father huffed. “No, no, you’ve already proven you’re just what she needs. Don’t shy away from the reality that’s of your own making. You’ve been at this for years. At my throat day after day on Vera’s behalf… just take her already. My lawyers will be in contact.”

“I don’t want to take her,” Jamie murmured, her voice growing thick.

“Then why’ve you been fighting so hard?” 

There was a third, long silence.

“Don’t do this. Don’t give your child up out of spite for me. Please,” Vera shifted on the couch when she heard Jamie’s voice break.

“It isn’t the first time we’ve thought about handing you custody. Get ready, we’ll legalize it when we get home.”

Three shrill beeps alerted Vera to the end of the call. Her father had hung up. She didn’t really know what most of that meant, but she did sort of pick up on one thing — that Jamie was going to take her? Take her where?

The child didn’t open her eyes. Not until she heard someone crying, quietly, so quiet it could be passed as something outside or the air conditioning. When she heard that, she sat up, peeling her eyes open to look around the dim living room.

“Aunt Jamie?” She questioned, rubbing her eyes with a childish yawn. Her aunt, who’d been facing away from her, near a front window, wiped her face and turned, making her way to the couch from the other side of the room in a heartbeat.

“It’s okay, baby -- go back to sleep,” She said quietly, plopping down on the couch where Vera’s head had been. The child obliged, carefully shuffling herself around until she could climb up on her aunt’s lap, wrapping her little arms around the woman securely.

Jamie only cried once Vera had fallen asleep.

--

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere @skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

[evermoredeluxe]

if they're still dating after this much backlash, there 100% real and in a genuine relationship not a fling/rebound. Moreover, the New Yorker profile did a good job of explaining Healy and his actions. While it was quite long, I get the meaning behind his actions more now. I think he will definitely apologize for going on that podcast and making jokes about all that but yeah don't expect them to stop dating over this and tbh i don't think they should. I think it'll be extremely concerning and frankly, down right weird if Taylor starts consulting her fans to decide who to date and not. She's a 33 year old woman, if you don't like who she's dating, stop being her fan or trust her judgement. Btw, before anyone comes for me, I'm a POC swiftie. Her personal life is not subject to our approval in ANY case.

for some weird reason, i think the backlash may have brought them closer because despite taylor's personal views on how he engages with issues, she might feel bad about the amount of backlash and he may feel bad because he is bringing her bad press during her unprecedented record-breaking tour.

yeah i think the profile was good in the sense that it clearly laid out how he thinks and was long but comprehensive. anyway, just because it was well-written doesn't mean i suddenly agree with matty's approach now. i don't expect any apology from him tbh and i personally couldn't give less of a fuck about his dumb comments and persona etc. he is smart but all of this is just fake display of some higher level of intellectualism that the public apparently doesn't have. in one word: pseudo-intellectualism. the way i engage with media is different from how american people engage with it and it's weird for me personally because i now live in the US (outside of taylor/matty, i have had this conversation so many times with my friends who still live in india). anyway, i don't give his words importance and rather just criticize him and learn how/why it's harmful.

as far as fans’ involvement goes, i think they should be allowed to express their hurt and why they are upset and their view but no one should expect her to change her life based on it. i said a few days ago that she is happy to take professional cues but not personal life cues because she is offering us her work about her life, not her life itself; and i still stand by what i said.

[dethharmonic]

Community Gardens

Otto Octavius x Reader; Alternate Universe - Magic Summary: While your trip to the market is brief, boy does it end up being A Lot. Chpt 5: controlled burn

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[click here for the fic on ao3]

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

The walk into town was uneventful, for you at least. For Otto, it was a constant struggle to keep you on track. While discussing the latest research you had done, you would continuously get far too involved in the conversation and stop walking. So he moved on to silence, in which you would get sidetracked by the fauna and flora of the area. At one point he turned to say something to you only to see you a few paces back, peering into the forest with a puzzled expression. With a sigh, he made his way to loom at your side.

     “Arm.”

     “Yeesh! Don’t sneak up on people!! Also, what?”

Forgoing an explanation, he gently took hold of your arm and linked it though his. Yes, it was a gentlemanly gesture, but it was more-so because keeping you focused at times was akin to trying to heard a very excited ferret. Thus, a leash of sorts.

     “How you haven’t been stolen away by fae-folk yet is beyond me.”

     “Oh, that’s because they usually only take nice things,” you replied offhandedly, the casual self-degradation slipping off your tongue without a second thought. In the small pause of conversation you began playing with the fabric of his sleeve as you both began walking again. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

     “And so, my confusion” he sighed out.

     “Aww, is the powerful magic man calling me nice?” you teased.

     “A delight.” He fondly recalled your words from a week or so ago. “Don’t get cocky about it.”

You let out a soft huff of air in response, but there was no actual annoyance behind it. A fact given away by the goofy smile plastered on your face; Otto wearing a similar, if more subtle, smile.

The town was a bit nerve-wracking at first, being in a new portion of the surprisingly large marketplace and at a busy time of day no less. Though you had explored a little of the area before, its clear you must have done so on an off day. Otto’s arm was a welcome presence, clinging to it helped to soothe the near over stimulation stemming from the crowd of shoppers. For a few shops Otto merely introduced you as his assistant and guided you through placing orders for important ingredients. It seemed like those buildings pressed down on you both, the feeling like the interactions were very begrudgingly done following you both out the door. The back-alley shops and carts were a different vibe entirely. While the former were quiet and rushed dealings, the latter were drawn out affairs; almost more chit-chat than business.

  It was during one of these visits that you had finally completely checked out for the day. How he kept up with all this was beyond your comprehension.

Had you not been at your mental limit, the current shop would have you bouncing off the walls. More books than you could count lined the walls of the cramped room. A mess that would normally have your fingers itching to dig into. A hefty crate sat on the counter filled with an assortment of beautifully bound journals, spell-books, and the occasional scroll. After several minutes of silence on your part, Otto looked over to see you wringing your hands while staring unblinkingly out the window at the food cart across the alley-way. An actuator gently nudged at your side, startling you out of whatever daze you’d fallen into.

     “Sorry,” you said remorsefully. After all, you were here for a reason.

     “You apologize too much.” Immediately you attempted to say sorry again, though with a judgmental eyebrow raise from Otto the words were bit back.

“How about we get something to eat and head back home, hmm?” He glanced to the gray sky, seeing black clouds rolling in towards town. “Looks like it will storm before too long anyway.”

With a relieved sigh, you answered with a subdued nod; letting him lead you out of the shop with his furnace of a hand along your back. This ended up being too much. You should have known this would happen in hindsight, but still you wanted to try. Home sounded nice. The fact that both of you were referring to a singular place not bothering to grace either mind.

The cart had possibly too many options, though it leaned more towards pastries. You both chose some little hand pies and upon contemplating the desserts for an embarrassingly long time, you got a parcel of cookies as well.

Moving to find a place to sit and eat, you came along a small public square. It looked to separate the ritzier shops from the ones that you’d just finished up business at. Benches dotted the outskirts, and a nearby one seemed quiet enough a spot to enjoy lunch. Street performers dotted the square, a small group of musicians tuning up catching your eye. You turned to Otto to point them out, but lost all train of thought when you saw him very intensely looking at his meal before flaking the pastry between his fingers.

     “What on earth are you doing to that poor pie?”

He froze a moment before responding to you, embarrassment flushing his ears a light pink.

     “I uh,” he cleared his throat, not sure how to explain himself but trying nonetheless. “I was wondering if that food cart may have had a brick and mortar shop years ago. The crust is remarkably similar to the ones that my Rosie liked to pick up for us before…” he trailed off, looking ahead to avoid any reaction you may have at the mention of the accident. Anger at the destruction he was used to, or even the cold shoulder that many preferred, but it was the pity regarding his late wife that soured his stomach the most. He wasn’t sure he could stand seeing that look come from you.

After studying his profile for a moment you nodded, which he didn’t see, and took a bite of your own hand pie. Chewing seemed to take longer during conversations, it gave you time to think. “We could always ask them next time, you know.” He finally looked back to you, a wary confusion gracing his features. You knew enough that she had passed in the accident. This was the first he had ever spoke of her to you and though you burned to know what she was like, you were aware that pit of grief was not your to dig in unprompted.

Relief washed through him, letting out a breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding. “Yeah,” he responded quietly, a small smile mirroring your own, “I suppose we could.”

The band had drawn a decently sized crowd while you had been talking, already one song in. Your meals were just about finished when they started their second song, an upbeat number that had some of the couples in the crowd break off to dance. Happily swaying along in your seat, Otto suddenly rose and swiftly turned to offer his hand to you.

     “C’mon,” he said while nodding in the musician’s direction.      “Oh uh…I don’t know,” you meekly replied, moving your hand to meet his on instinct. “I have no idea how to dance.”

     “That’s fine, neither do I.” A wink was all you had in warning before he grabbed you up, one hand in yours and the other firmly on your waist. Brain left back in your seat, you moved mindlessly alongside Otto. Letting him lead you this way and that, it’s possible that he was fibbing about not knowing how to dance. His steps were graceful, as fluid as the rivers of silver flowing from his back.

You were happy. The thought absently rolled through your mind as Otto twirled you around. Not sure of the last time you were certain of the feeling of absolute joy, but right now you felt it deep in your heart. That sentiment poured from you, coloring the laughter as an actuator helped to support you in a low dip. As the musicians seemed to wrap up, so did the impromptu dancing. Breathless, Otto took a long look at you and though the sky remained overcast, he swore he felt the warm rays of the sun.

In the small walk back to your belongings heaped next to the bench, it dawned on you that for being a town pariah, Otto sure did deal with a lot of vendors.

Thankfully unlike your initial trek into the woods for supplies, he didn’t make you lug around the two very full bags you’d filled to the brim. Heading towards the road home, you were still under the impression you were done for the day. Just in time, it seemed, as it looked like the storm would start any minute now. Both of you having dressed for nice early summer day, you’d be soaked to the bone if so.

You had been steadily walking in pace with Otto, but he suddenly slowed and eventually stopped altogether, prompting you to look back in confusion. To most the look on his face would be that of a troubled man, brow knotted and a deep frown; you knew it better as his thinking face. After a moment of patient waiting on your part, he seemed to come to some conclusion as he nodded and looked your way.

Before you could voice any question, an actuator tugged at your shirt sleeve and another placed the heavy bags at your feet. “Stay here a moment, please.”

     “Uh, okay?” You gave the claw at your elbow a pat before glancing back up to him. “Why?”

     “I forgot something,” he paused, maybe thinking of elaborating further before deciding against it. “It’ll be quicker if I go by myself, so don’t move.”

     “You got it, Sir.” You gave a halfhearted thumbs up, already bending over to rummage through the bags for the package of cookies you’d gotten earlier. A snort of a laugh was all the response given, and by the time you popped back up with your prize he was already gone. “How is he so fast,” you muttered in astonishment. “What the hell.”

Focused on scooping a cookie out and closing the bag back up, you almost didn’t notice the soft rumble of thunder. A fat drop of cold water hit the back of your neck as you leaned back down to replace the bundle of cookies.

     “Oh, come on.” Still bent over, you grimaced skywards. Maybe the sheer disdain in your look would end the rain before it started. Another drop landed directly in an eye. Despite wearing glasses. Apparently you are not strong enough to sway the clouds.

Anxiously you shoved the cookie to your mouth while gathering up the bags. Otto would probably be a little miffed you moved, but you weren’t sure if the rain would ruin anything and you didn’t want to chance it. Scurrying back to the edge of the square, you quickly found an awning of a closed shop to stand under. So engrossed in your rain escape, you hadn’t noticed the eyes that followed. Eyes that noticed the fearsome wizard had left your side. Like prowling coyotes, a pair of women hurried through the sparse drizzle to take shelter under the same large awning you had chose. Far enough to not breath down your neck, but close enough that it made you a bit wary. From the corner of your eye, you saw one nudge the other towards you with an odd expression.

       “You’re not wanted here,” an almost monotone voice came from the closest woman, clearly straining to be calm.

You shouldn’t indulge them.

Ignore them.

     “Whatever you are, this town doesn’t need it. Especially not with that freakish excuse for a man you’re here with.” The words cracked out like a whip, snapping your head towards them. The heat of anger lapped at your skin.      “You know what happened to the last little thing he mingled with?” As she spoke, movement shifted your gaze to the passersby that swarmed to see this new entertainment play out.      “He killed her,” the second woman almost gleefully remarked. “Blew her right up with half the city. And they were married for years! Just imagine how little he probably cares for your safety,” she hissed these words, hot as steam. You flinched back as if this would help you avoid the pain.

     “T-that….that’s not–”

    “You know I gave plenty warning,” a man interjected, the very same you’ve been consistently running into since purchasing your home, breaking from the small gathering crowd to address them. “Doesn’t matter in the long run, maybe they’ll off each other in those woods. Better for everyone. Lord knows we certainly don’t need any more of your kind running around.”

He turned to you now, getting a single step forward before a metallic blur shot past, connecting to the ground with a solid thunk. An actuator stood between you, a breath away from the man and almost crackling with the energy of lightening ready to hit. With Otto’s appearance most of the crowd scattered away, leaving just a few of the nastier people. The ones too stupid to scatter.

The man seemed to finally snap from his shock, bristling and sputtering indignities. He was either VERY foolish or thought himself brave (you could take a bold guess as to which was true), as he attempted to begin his verbal tirade anew.

     “Shhh-shhh-sh, shush.” Otto raised his fingers to his lips, a motion that commanded rather than suggested silence as a faint shimmery haze wove into the air around his hand. A matching vapor took place around the throat of the other man, you couldn’t seem to find it in yourself to care what spell was being used. It got results. “I don’t recall allowing you to speak.”

Otto lowered his hand, still pulsing with the spell, and stiffly held it flat at his side. The quiet that followed was heavy, a test.

     “I’m not sure what passes for polite conversation these days, but you fine folks don’t seem to be too worried about that. I’ll say this only once; back off. This is a mercy I will not extend again.”

With that he wrapped his free arm around you, pulling you close to his side. The dizzy panic that had been almost all consuming began to ebb away as he gently pressed a kiss to your temple.     “Are you okay?” he whispered, hot breath breezing over your cheekbone.

     “I…” you began, but quickly fell silent as your eyes flicked over to where the group had been. They had fled the moment Otto turned his attention away, the only one left being the unfortunate excuse for a person still under the shackles of his spell. Words seemed too hard. So instead you nodded, clutching his arm, and hoped he understood that you wanted to leave immediately. Thunder rumbled in the distance. He turned you towards the wall of plant-life encapsulating the way home. In the corner of your eye, Otto’s hand began to relax, the shimmer of the spell clearing. A cold wind kicked up as you walked forward, almost masking the sound of footsteps behind.

As you came to the large boulder, actuators not holding bags swept forward. Well, if you came back to town that won’t be a problem anymore. Because they flung that rock deep into the nearby underbrush as if it was a pebble. The lightening finally pealed across the sky, a mirrored flash of light quickly bursting from Otto’s clenched hand.

You ignored the thump that followed.

Certain you were far enough from any harm possibly caused by the townsfolk, Otto reluctantly withdrew his grip on you. A shiver ripped through you at the departure.

Emerging from the overgrowth surrounding other side of the road’s entrance, you were startled by the sudden cold drops of rain that had begun in earnest. The feeling lasted only a few seconds, though the rain was clearly continuing on ahead of you. Raising your head stilled the question on your lips, seeing a small domed barrier sprouting from the claw of an actuator above the two of you. Possibly the weirdest umbrella you’ve come across, but it did the job. Otto showed no signs of slowing when arriving at his home. Why did that send pinpricks of dread through you? A quick glance at his face as you trekked forward revealed nothing, his gaze fixed ahead and expression blank. As much as you desperately wanted to say something, anything really, you stayed silent. For the remainder of the walk, the only sounds you focused on were the familiar crunch of gravel below and the steady drum of rain above. Upon arrival at your home, the weight of silence was almost crushing. It was unbearable, so you you moved to speak. Otto instead abruptly stuck out a rectangular package wrapped in thick brown paper. When you failed to move, he gently grasped your wrist to bring your hand up to cradle it.

     “Oh, uh. Thank you?” The words tumbled clumsily, held back by confusion. “What is—”

     “I think we should end your apprenticeship,” he hurried out.

It took a moment for you to react at all, like when nicking a finger with a knife so sharp you don’t notice the slice until blood wells out. The grip on your gift turned hard enough that the paper tore a bit under your fingertips.

He couldn’t stand to see the results of his words, so Otto pulled you into his arms. The act was selfish, he thought briefly. Cowardly. Another thought barreled through to say at least he wasn’t so selfish to ruin your life by sullying it with his. He blocked out any more thoughts before the correct one could grace his brain: This was wrong, he was being foolish.

     “It’s for the best,” he murmurs into your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. You both know the grip is too tender, the moment far too soft to convince you he truly meant the words. So he sets his jaw and repeats. “It’s for the best.”

A broken sound bubbled past your dam of silence, causing him to pull away to look at you. Angry tears brimmed the kind eyes he was accustomed to, you refused his gaze. You broke free of the whisper of a hold he had on you and swiftly made way into your home. The wooden door slammed behind like an iron gate. In feeling too many emotions, you in turn felt numb. Like a statue you stood, staring at the hastily wrapped package as thoughts turned to static.

Don’t even open it.

Just start up a fire and toss it in.

You ripped at the paper covering.

Pressing your back to the door, you slid down to meet the worn wooden floorboards.

A book of magic, possibly the most beautiful one you’ve ever seen.

     “Idiot,” you choked out. Not sure who exactly you were cursing.

[spinchip]

Cut The Act

Wordcount: 1900 Ship: Gen A/N: This is a fic set in the movie!Verse :] I wrote this ages ago, after i first watched the movie, and only recently cleaned it up enough to feel comfortable posting lol. This takes place a few years after the movie, and Zane has grown a lot during that time so he's a bit uhh OOC, sorry lol Warnings: Mentions of an off-screen injury that's already healed.

Summary: After Zane get a bad scrape in a fight, he decides to acknowledge the elephant in the room and come clean about his nindroid nature. It'll be anxiety free- All of his friends have connected the dots and figured it out by now anyway... Right?

In his defense, he was pretty sure they already knew.

It’s not as if he thought he was dropping some huge life changing bombshell on them, because they had been dropping pretty un-subtle hints that hey! We know you’re a robot, and we love and support you anyway! Which is why, when he walks into the hangar on that Saturday afternoon, he didn’t think to like, brace them or anything. It just that he wanted to share this part of himself with them more intimately, and also in one of their last fights he’d been damaged- he’d walked it off, fine enough to make it home so Father could see to it, but now he couldn’t quite stop thinking about what would happen if something were to go really wrong, and he needed emergency maintenance on the field.

Of course he trusted Jay and Nya more than anything, and would gladly lay his life in their hands if it came down to it- they were nearly as capable as his father, and should honestly meet him, but that's a story for another day. The duo had worked together to build their mechs, and if anyone could put his intricate wiring back together in a worse-case-scenario type of event, it would be them. So really, this was all very practical, and the obviously logical choice, made totally easier by the fact that he honestly thought they already knew.

So the reason he was at least 95 percent sure they’d caught on was that, during the early years when he was still learning, he was very much not so great at blending in. Turns out, being a normal teen did not involve dropping the words ‘normal teen’ into every other sentence, or casually downloading yourself into most electronics, or perfectly vocalized dial tones. With upgrades and time, he’d picked up on some of the intricacies of human emotion and nowadays people would rarely look at him twice (This isn't exactly true- even as much as he'd grown and learned, he's pretty sure he'll always be on a different page than everyone else, but that stopped bothering him a long time ago. He was weird, and his friends liked him that way.) if not for his friendship with Lloyd Garmadon and his status as the white ninja, he would totally blend in. To people who knew him from the start, though, there was definitely a clear… learning curve, so to speak.

When Father had been repairing him after that particular fight and Zane had brought up the idea, Dr. Julien had been all for it.

“Being honest with your friends is good,” His father had said, pulling back his goggles to smile kindly at Zane, “If you trust them, you should tell them.”

Though his father had probably not intended for Zane to make a very forbidden copy of his own blueprints to give to his friends, but what dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

And, well, it’s not like they ever acted like they hadn’t caught on. Most other kids in their grade would look at him like he’d grown a second head, voice turning stilted and judgemental whenever he let slip his more mechanical aspects- but never his friends. They accepted it, and loved him anyways.

For example, last year during English class after a particularly comprehensive personal software update, Zane had sighed. As in, for real, actually sighed, instead of just saying the word out loud. Cole, who had English with Zane each year, had smiled at him with this playful sort of look and said, “Hey, your voice modulator got an update!” And he’d winked as if in on a joke, “Sounds good on you!”

As endearing as it was after the fact, that Cole not only noticed but complimented his fathers work, in the moment he’d felt his processor drop into his feet, sensors flooding with adrenaline. They’d never outright stated they knew like that, and it’d never been so obvious. Sure, sometimes they asked him to run statistics or look up something really specific, but never before had they directly referenced his voice modulator or anything of the type.

He’d ducked his head, anxiety and nerves ramping up, hesitating for a fraction of a second before what Cole had said sunk in. Sounds good on you. He brightens a little at the support, “Thank you,” He says honestly, smiling, “Father installed it over the weekend.” he offers timidly, still dancing around fully admitting he’s a robot, though coming closer than he ever figured he would.

Things like this happened more and more frequently over the years, where they would super obviously hint they had connected the dots. It would be something everybody knows but no one acknowledges sort of situation. He was comfortable with that.

Until he very much wasn’t.

So here he was, one saturday afternoon, very seriously walking into his friends hang-out session with a fancy document tube containing xeroxed copies of his own blueprints, all ready to lay out his innermost mechanisms to his friends in the ultimate show of trust, and to finally acknowledge the elephant in the room. Plus, over time, it started feeling weird and wrong to keep such a serious secret from them. He wanted to be completely open and honest… And now he was finally ready to make that leap.

“My friends.” he announces, stepping in front of the old TV Kai and Nya had brought in sometime sophomore year so they could play video games and watch movies together, “I have something serious to discuss.”

“Wait- I’m almost done with this lap!” Jay stretches his neck to try and see around Zane, mashing blindly at the buttons on his controller.

Nya reaches over and smacks him playfully on the back of the head, “He said this was serious, Jay. Just pause it.” He blinks a little and nods bashfully, tossing the controller aside.

“So whats up?” Lloyd prods, as the rest of his friends all sit up a little straighter to offer their attention, Cole going so far as to take his headphones off his neck completely.

Zane feels a surge of nerves rush through his head and he fiddles with the cap of the document tube for a moment to gather his courage, “My friends, as I believe you already know… I am an android.” he says the last part without pause, pushing through it so he doesn’t stumble or second guess himself.

All of them, who had been getting increasingly tense as Zane stood there, seemed to exhale collectively, “Is that all? You had me scared there for a second!” Kai jokes.

Cole smiles, “Yeah man, we know about the robot thing. It doesn’t change anything.” he picks up on Zane's anxiety, smiling reassuringly at him.

Feeling emboldened by their response, Zane finally twists the cap off of the document tube, “You have no idea how much this means to me. I feel it is important, now that our fights are getting more dangerous, that I give you all these.” He clears a spot of the coffee table before dumping out the papers across its surface, kneeling down to smooth out the stack and organize them, “My blueprints.”

He glances up and sees them all smile easily at him, Jay and Nya leaning forward curiously, “You have to keep these a secret. My Father built me, these are his notes, and he doesn’t know I took my own copies.” he notes his friends expression pinch, like they don’t quite compute what he’s saying, and he assumes they must not like that he took these without permission, “It’s the logical course of action to share these with you all, in the event that I am damaged and need emergency repair, you will be unable to help without studying my build.”

He spreads the pictures out, sliding a few closer to his friends so they can look themselves, and Nya carefully picks up a page. She laughs awkwardly, analyzing the information in front of her with wide eyes, “These are… awfully detailed, Zane.”

“Yeah, I mean, how long did these take to make?” Jay peeks over Nya's shoulder, the others looking at the different pages themselves with wide eyes, “These mechanics look actually legit!”

“My father has been working on my mechanics for his entire life.” Frowning, Zane looks back down at the papers, “Of course they are legitimate, they’re mine. Here, look-” He strips his sweater vest off, folding it and setting it aside and starting in on unbuttoning his shirt.

“Woah!” Lloyd holds up his hands to shield Zane, “Lets keep your clothes on, Zane!”

Zane’s confused, his button up pooling in his lap, leaving him kneeling on the floor in only his shoes, khakis, and undershirt, “My construction is completely unique to anything in Ninjago, I do not mind showing you.”

Cole tilts his head, the crease between his brows growing more pronounced, “You’re… not making this up, are you?”

“Making this up?” His frown deepens.

“You mean you’re actually…” Kai trails off, eyes widening.

“But… a fully recognized AI is years off…”

“I already told you I am like nothing in Ninjago.” Zane explains, “You thought I was… lying?” The word rankles, and he feels his emotions plummet.

“Not lying!” Lloyd is looking at Zane like he’s seeing him for the first time, “We just thought you were… playing. Y’know, like, pretend.” He finishes with a wince.

Zane lets that process before a laugh bubbles up out of his chest, and he covers his mouth to stifle it, looking back at all his memories with a new filter. All the playful smirks, the joking comments! They must have thought he was so strange- and still, they had embraced him and even joined in! “I do not mean to laugh, just- thank you. For playing along, I suppose.”

The smile fades as the reality sinks in, he has no idea how they’ll truly react to his robotic nature, “But… I am telling the truth. I am an android, my father built me to protect those who cannot protect themselves.” At this, he tugs his undershirt off over his head, revealing the seam where his synthetic skin stops, metal casing continuing and taking up most of the expanse of his chest. He slides his hand along the panel embedded where his ribs would be, popping open his front compartment and revealing neatly routed wires and the glow of his power source, “This is not pretend. I hope you can still see me as your friend.”

He looks up earnestly, hoping their playful enthusiasm from before will come back, and each of his friends have varying reactions. Nya and Jay look intensely curious, Cole looks calm as usual, and kai and Lloyd…

“I support you one hundred percent, bro,” Kai points out before Zane can assume the worst as he cringes away from the imagery, “But from a strictly human perspective, I am looking at your guts, and that’s a little…”

“Morbid.” Lloyd agrees, looking bashfully green around the gills.

“This is so totally cool!” Jay announces, grinning, “You’re like a- a nindroid!”

“A what?”

“Ninja Android. Nindroid.” Jay explains before he calms down, smiling sincerely at Zane, “This doesn’t change anything. You’re still one of my best friends.”

“Same for me.” Nya nods, “We support you through thick and thin!”

“We’re your family.” Cole confirms, “Nothing could change that. You’re still our Zane, just more… gears.”

Zane closes the panel, smiling brightly, and Kai perks up, “No matter what you’re made of, you’re still our brother.”

“Thank you all.” He says sincerely, feeling lighter.

“Yeah!” Jay grins, “Yeah, and how cool is it that I can honestly say "My brother is a Nindroid?"”

[the-final-sif]

your eldritch larping dream au lives in my head now thanks. where tf do they even go from there. what do they do. how do they tell dream it wasn't a game.

How to Handle the Revelation that Your Close Friend Who You Thought Turned Evil Is Significantly Less Human Than You Originally Assumed and Also Believes You Have Been LARPing For The Past Two Years of Bloodshed In Four Easy Steps

A wikiHow article by Sapnap, leading expert in emotional breakdowns caused by discovering your former best friend turned murderous villain isn't simply a secretive hybrid, but is instead an eldritch being playing human and is completely unaware that all of this wasn't just a game.

If you've stumbled upon this article because you are in a similar situation, first and foremost, how in the everloving fuck did this happen twice? Second, how did you end up in this circumstance and decide that googling it was the best option? Seriously, what the fuck man?

In this Article

Discover the Truth

For Once In Your Fucking Life, Make A Good Decision.

Go Home

Leave the Rest For Future You To Figure Out.

Other Sections

Questions & Answers

Related Articles

References

1. Discover the Truth

Watch in horror as your former friend reassembles his battered and broken body like a puppet's strings being pulled, all of the pieces coming back together in one fluid movement. You will likely need a minute to register what your eyes are seeing, during which you and the rest of the battlefield will be frozen in shock. Take your time, there's really no rush given that the man you've been fighting desperately, the man you've forsaken, mourned, and lost countless nights of sleep over, is now preoccupied with gently helping up the teenage enderman hybrid who is too bewildered to react.

At this point, you (and others in the area) will just barely be recovering from the feeling of having glimpsed something beyond your comprehension. You will recover faster than most of the others, because you are more familiar with this feeling, although you could not name it before now [1].

You will suddenly process the moments before the transformation. Particularly, the word 'Stoplight' that the enderman hybrid had accidentally called out while trying to communicate something to his friends.

That word is one you've had a long history with. It meant "I am hurt for real. I want to stop playing now. I need help."[2]

You have used it before during games of hunting, where you and your friends would play pretend. But it shouldn't work here. Because you aren't pretending here. Or at least, you thought you weren't.

Watching as your friend finishes helping the hybrid, you will start to doubt.

As he smiles that soft smile you remember from so long ago, the one that looked a little off but was so blindingly sincere you couldn't help but trust him, the doubt will swell in your stomach.

When he moves back to where he was before; when his strings loosen and the wound you gave him not five minutes prior splits back open; when he asks so innocently and genuinely "Are we ready to keep playing?"

That's when the doubt will be replaced by the far more horrible wave of certainty, crashing through your body with the care and elegance of a tapeworm.

Congratulations, you've discovered the truth. Enough of it anyways.

2. For Once In Your Fucking Life, Make A Good Decision.

Now that you've realized the truth, you will have about two seconds to realize that no one else understands the truth, and if you do not act now everything will be so much worse. The only people who understand what that word means are not here. The others do not understand. They did not grow up with your friend. They did not play your games. They did not whisper within your little circle about the oddities of your friend. About what kind of hybrid he must be [3]. They do not understand, but you do, and you must act now. In the past, you've favored recklessness, you've favored violence, you've favored the swing of your sword to any attempt at resolution. But you are so very tired. All you want to do is stop playing. You want so desperately to go home.

Unfreeze yourself, and let your sword fall to your side. He won't attack you. Not unless you say you're ready. He plays fair like that.

"I- Fuck. Dream- How- What-."

You will pause in your stumbling as he rights himself slowly, wounds not healing but simply ignored. As if they were for decoration. Maybe they are. Even behind his mask, you will know he's confused.

Before he can speak, you will make a choice of exhaustion and longing. It might be the only good choice you've made in the past two fucking years.

"No. I think- I think I'm done playing. I want to be done. I want to go home. I- Stoplight. Stoplight. Please, can we just go home?"

Now his wounds heal, skin stitching together and bones righting themselves as he stretches his body just to the left of how a human ought to be able to move themselves. It only takes a heartbeat, and then he's beaming at you. You know that he is [4].

" 'Course, Pandas! Do you wanna call Bad to check your shoulder? I wasn't sure if I swung too hard. I was hoping you'd dodge."

It will be as easy as breathing to fall back to him. Even knowing all he's done, even knowing and hating the fact that it meant nothing to him. That he doesn't even understand that he's done harm. You will still fall into his arms the moment he extends them. His warmth is back as if it were never gone, and it will frighten you to your core.

You do not have the energy though, so instead you will just allow his comfort to entrap you.

"No." You will say. "No, I just wanna go home, Dream. Please."

"Okay." He'll say, and you'll feel the old familiar hum of a teleportation command wrapping around you.

"Okay."

3. Go Home

Let him take you home. Forget about the past. Forget about wars, bloodshed and violence that tore you apart. Forget about the clusterfuck of confusion and chaos you've left behind you. Instead, let him guide you to a couch where you'll sit in a stupor. There he'll peel you out of the armor that's become your second skin, he'll wash away the blood and bandage your wounds with care you haven't experienced in years. His softness will burn you, and you will cling to it desperately even as it sears your skin beyond repair.

As he works, he will speak to you softly. Jovially. You won't be able to understand his words. You won't want to. It will make it all too real.

He won't fall quiet, but he will realize you aren't listening. He won't mind. He'll talk to fill the space for both of you.

When your wounds are patched up, he will guide you up once again.

You will walk, most of your weight on his shoulders, until you reach a bed.

He will lay you down, bringing the blanket up over your shoulders.

"Stay. Please." You'll say, throat worn from screaming and clogged with unshed tears.

"Of course, here, just scooch a bit." His hands will move you, and then he'll be laying in the bed beside you, just like the two of you used to.

"Love you, Pandas."

You know that he means it [5].

With what little energy you have left, you will roll over to fit yourself against his chest. He will be warm, and when his arms wrap around you, you will be able to ignore that his body doesn't breathe right. That it merely pretends to.

Faintly, you will realize you have no idea what building you're in.

Where he brought you is a mystery.

It does not matter.

You are home [6].

4. Leave the Rest for Future You to Figure Out

In the very near future, you are going to suffer. You are going to have to rip off the bandaid. You will have to explain the truth to him. You will have to explain the truth to the others. That this all was not a game. That he did not understand it wasn't a game. You will have to try to understand what he is. What being could possible shrug off that level of harm. What being could endure and inflict so much damage without any of it exceeding the limit of play.

But in this moment, you are tired.

You are twenty years old, and you have been fighting since you were eighteen.

You have lost so much [7].

For a long time, you lost your best friend. The one who took the weight off your shoulders when it was too heavy for you to bare. When you were scared but could not bring yourself to admit it.

He is back now, as if he never left.

And you are so very tired.

So now, in this moment, you let him take the weight once more.

Future you will need to take up the weight as soon as you can, but for a moment, you will have a reprieve [8].

Let him hold you. Let yourself be weightless. Let yourself be loved in the most terrifying way; unconditionally.

Let yourself sleep.

Community Q&A

Sapnap did you really just fucking vanish then write this wikiHow article instead of answering any of us??? We've been trying to get in contact with you for 14 fucking hours! What the Fuck! asked by ItsFundy

Sapnap, Author, Expert Answer

Yeah.

Ask a Question

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References

You felt it brush at the edge of your mind when you stared at him for too long, when you thought a little too hard about where he came from, about how his body moves just a little bit differently from how you think it should.

Badboyhalo. Father. Expert Interview. Too long ago to recall.

George swore he was from the end. Antfrost speculated a Warden. You never did make up your mind. Nothing ever fit.

You cannot see his face under the mask, you are not sure if he has one. But you can feel his emotions all the same. When he wants you to. If you are one of the ones he wants to.

It's in his voice, in his care, in his eyes you cannot see.

He is home. He has always been home. It has been so long since you have been home.

It hurt.

Just a moment. Please.

[maximons]

All Is Lost

Summary: Zombies have taken over the world, humanity on the edge of extinction. All hope was lost. Despite that, Wanda couldn’t seem to let go of Y/n, who had fallen victim to the plague herself.

Word Count: 2,263

Genre: Angst

Requested?: No

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, cannibalism, suicide, mentions of blood. Spoilers for Ep. 5 of What If...?

A/N: I know, I know, I’m gonna get into the stuff I promised soon. But for now, the Zombies episode inspired me and this came out. If you haven’t seen the episode yet, go watch it. Its amazing and depressing. Also this is DARK guys, probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written, so...Happy Reading!

The Zombie apocalypse was always something everyone joked about, but never something that anyone could actually predict.

Everything happened so quickly, Wanda could barely keep up. It’s hard to believe that everything was so normal only two weeks ago. Now, she was locked away with Vision in an abandoned military base in New Jersey. Desperate to survive for as long as possible while Vision worked on a cure.

Some of his experiments had been a success, most notably Scott Lang who he was able to revert back from his zombified state. However, the man was now only a severed head.

Despite the success, Vision was less than optimistic. For one, Scott was one of the first infected. While the cure worked on him, the android theorized that the disease has mutated greatly since then, and it was likely impossible to cure everyone. And even if he could, the technology to do so is beyond human comprehension and therefore doesn’t exist.

Vision might have all but given up hope, but Wanda didn’t. She couldn’t. She refused to give up on you.

Wanda and you have been best friends for as long as Wanda had been an Avenger. You were already a member of the team and greeted her with an open mind and open arms, despite all she had done. You had fire powers, and while your powers weren’t identical to Wanda’s, you still offered some basic tips and tricks to keep such explosive powers at bay.

It wasn’t a surprise that she fell in love with you.

But her stupid fear had to get in the way, and when you came to confess your own feelings for her, she panicked and rejected you. You were so heartbroken, Wanda didn’t need to read your mind to know that.

And it kills her everyday knowing that that was the last interaction she had with you. The last one with you as yourself anyway.

All that remained now was the flesh hungry, blood thirsty monster that wore your, now rotting, skin.

This wasn’t you, she knows that. She looked into your mind and saw no trace of the woman you once were, the one she loved with all her heart. She couldn’t feel you, you were gone.

Despite this, Wanda couldn’t let you go. She couldn’t handle losing you entirely. She already lost almost everyone.

She managed to convince Vision to keep you in the base for testing. You were locked behind a large steel door, with only a window to see you through. But you were here, and that’s all Wanda cared about.

The cure wasn’t working for you. Your powers caused it to incinerate when it entered your system, proving it to be ineffective. Still, she refused to give up.

Vision thought it best to terminate you after the failed tests, but Wanda begged him not to. Knowing he couldn’t overpower her, and sensing his friend’s distress with anything that comes to you, he agreed. As long as Wanda had it under control.

She doubted he knew that she was luring innocent survivors into the base so you could feed on them, but she did what she had to do.

Wanda spent most of her days sitting outside of your cell. The first few days, you were ravenous. Banging on the walls and trying to burn them down, growling and screeching with the inhuman noise that took over your vocal chords, but you didn’t manage to break free. After a while, it seemed you have given up, and just sat in place. Only moving when Wanda opened the cell and let some of your ‘food’ in.

There were times where Wanda thought that maybe, just maybe, the cure was working more than they thought. You seemed to have recognized her, your facial expressions formed into ones that she had recognized and missed dearly. But that hope quickly died when she would peek into your head and still sense nothing.

“Hey, Y/n.” Wanda walked up to outside your cell and sat cross-legged like she did everyday. Your head rose, staring at her with your now glowing yellow eyes. “Still no progress on the cure, but don’t worry, I’m not giving up yet.” You offered no response, not that she expected one. “It’s hard. It’s only getting worse out there...” She sighed as she trailed off. She raised her hand to the glass, like she always did. “I’m going to figure it out...we’re gonna get you back to normal, and I’m going to tell you every day how much I love you. I miss you so much, but...we’re almost there. I can feel it...” Wanda’s voice started choking up, as tears ran down her face. “We deserve our happy ending.”

Her hand was still pressed against the glass as she finished her speech. She was about to lower it, but then something unexpected happened. You stared at her hand curiously, beginning to raise your own. Wanda watched, smile forming on her face as your arm made it’s way to the glass. 

“Wanda! Please come here, we have a situation.” You had almost pressed your hand against Wanda’s, when Vision’s voice interrupted. Your attention turned to the direction it came from and you let out a growl, clearly angry at the interruption. Wanda sighed in disappointment, but she tried not to let it take over. You still showed massive improvement, something worth reporting back to Vision. “It’s okay.” She soothed you. “I’m going to go see what he wants then I’ll be right back, okay? I know you’re hungry, I’ll get you some food too.” You didn’t offer a response as she walked off.

“Vis! I have to tell you-” Wanda began as she walked into the main room, but cut herself off at the new faces. She didn’t recognize the bald woman with the spear or the wimpy looking man in a workers uniform, but she was familiar with Peter. What surprised her most though, was Bruce Banner. A man she hasn’t seen in over three years. “What is going on?”

“I ran into them outside the premises. Apparently word has gotten out about the cure.” Vision answered before turning his attention back to the guests. “As I told you, I am afraid we cannot help you. The cure seems to be a moot point.”

“Well, what about-” Peter began, but he was interrupted by a new voice.

“For something you have no hope for, you sure don’t have a problem bringing in new test subjects.” Wanda recognized Bucky Barnes’ voice. She turned around, and her eyes widened as she saw King T’challa on his arm, struggling to stand on his one remaining leg.

Shit.

“My king! We thought you dead.” The bald woman exclaimed in relief and surprise.

“Your highness. I was not aware you were in the base.” Vision said, confused on how that got by him. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. “Wanda...”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda whispered, knowing she was caught. “The cure wasn’t working on Y/n, and in order to keep her at bay, I had to feed her.”

“So you fed her our King?” A spear was raised to her throat, threateningly.

“It was nothing personal, I promise. I have her under control and the cure is starting to work, I know it. We just need a little more time!”

“Why not just kill her? You lured innocent people to their deaths just for her when there a couple million more Zombies out there that you could use for testing. Ones that have a chance of being cured.” The whole room went quiet after Bucky said that.

“Uh oh. Shouldn’t have said that.” Wanda heard Scott say, but she was too busy glaring at Bucky. Her eyes started to go red, but before she could do anything, she noticed the spear held to her throat begin to glow red and melt. The woman dropped the spear as it began to burn her hands.

“Did it just suddenly get like, super hot?” Peter asked as he began to fan himself.

“Oh no...” Wanda trailed off. She looked up to notice the steal walls that led to your cell begin to melt. “You’ve done it now...she hasn’t eaten in days.” Before anyone could respond, the steel doors melted completely. The man in the uniform was unfortunate enough to be standing in front of it, as a strong burst of flame shot out and incinerated him on the spot. Only a second later, you flew out the door, covered in flames as you hovered above everyone.

Wanda watched in horror as you began to fight everyone. They weren’t holding up very well, and that’s when Wanda finally realized what she had done. This wasn’t you, and if you were still here, you would hate to see your body be used to attack and kill others.

“Vision! Get us out of here!” She heard Bruce yell, and Vision shot a blast towards the wall, blowing it up and letting everyone out. Wanda turned her focus back to you, you watched them starting to escape and you began to fly after them, but a red mist surrounded you before you could. You turned your head, starting to growl, but stopped when you saw it was Wanda.

“Y/n. Stop...” You tilted your head, still struggling to move as Wanda came closer. She took a chance and reached up, gently placing a hand on your face. “I am so sorry...you never deserved this...” Your face softened at the touch, beginning to show the signs of emotion that Wanda desperately held onto. However, it was clear now that it was too late.

You snapped out of it, as you managed to break free from Wanda’s hold. You opened your mouth wide, intent on biting and feeding on her, but something stopped you. You hesitated, and Wanda noticed. You settled for pushing her aside to the ground as you reignited yourself and flew out of the base.

Wanda picked herself up after a moment, intent on stopping you. She ran past Okoye’s body, charred and eaten, but she was sure there was little time until she turned. She ran faster to where you were, now facing off against Bucky. She sprinted further, about to take off and fly when she paused.

Vision was face down on the ground. She kneeled next to him, glowing red hand turning over his body, afraid of what she’ll see. Once he was turned, Wanda gasped at the sight. The mind stone was torn out of his head.

“Oh no...no, no, no...” She held his body, tears slowly building as she mourned the loss of her best friend. She had officially lost everything. “I am so sorry Vis...I’m going to make this right, I promise.”

She heard Bucky scream. She looked over to see you start to feed on him. She saw Bruce, Peter, Scott and T’challa in the distance, making their way to the jet. They were your next target.

No. Wanda wasn’t going to let that happen. It ends now.

She used her powers to propel herself forward, landing directly in your path. You growled at her yet again as she used her powers to hold you. “Y/n...please, stop.” You struggled to get out of the hold, but Wanda held on. “This isn’t you...you wouldn’t want this...I love you more than anything, and I’m so sorry...I hope one day, you’ll forgive me.” 

Wanda used her powers to grab the gun laying by Bucky’s side. She held in to your head, ready to pull the trigger...but she couldn’t. She let out a scream of frustration and dropped her hold on both you and the gun. The gun fell to the ground, but you haven’t moved.

“I can’t do it...I...I’m not strong enough...” Wanda began crying, shutting her eyes and waited for you to finish her off. She failed everyone, no one deserved death more than her. She opened her eyes when nothing came. You stood, staring at her with a tilt of your head. The yellow of your eyes dimming as you stared.

“W....Wan...” You struggled to let out, but it was enough for Wanda to hear. She cried even harder. She was right, you were almost there...but it was too late now.

You took in your surroundings as best you could, you didn’t have a lot of awareness, but you knew enough to piece everything together. You saw the influx of zombies starting to enter to base.  Everyone needed to get away. You turned back to Wanda, and you knew what you had to do. You felt the little control you had start to slip away.

You bent down and picked up the discarded gun. You shakily pointed it to your temple, the control slipping away faster and faster. “Love....you....I...sorry...” You managed to croak out. Before you could lose control completely, you pulled the trigger.

Wanda watched in horror as you shot yourself in the head. Pieces of your brain landing on her, your blood drenching her. She looked down to see your body, half your face still together, but you were gone. Truly gone.

She knelt down sobbing, as she held your body. After a moment she looked up to see the Hulk appear as the zombies began to overwhelm the base. She saw the jet take off, and she gave a weak smile. They got away. Wanda’s job was done. This is where her story ends. All was lost for her.

So when the zombies finally reached her, she didn’t fight back. Accepting her death with open arms.

Epilogue

[bluejayblueskies]

an ill-fitting definition

rating: M words: 4.3k relationships: jongeorgie, jontim, jonmartin, background wtgfs additional tags: canon compliant, pre-canon, scottish safehouse period, canon asexual character, fluff, kissing, implied sexual content, rumors and misconceptions

written for weeks two/three of @archivalpride for the prompts identity and doubt!

cw for misconceptions about asexuality, assumptions made about somebody’s sexuality, rumors and outing somebody without their knowledge, non-explicit/implied sexual content, mention of canonical character death, mention of canonical stalking and paranoia, gossip (including of the sexual nature), food, very mild blood, mild internalized acephobia

ao3 link in source

.

It’s three weeks and two days after they began dating, when Georgie picks up Jon’s hand where it’s clasped in hers and asks with plain curiosity in her voice, so does the ring, y’know, mean anything?, that Georgie hears the word asexual cross Jon’s lips for the first time.

It’s not a word she’s unfamiliar with; she’s run in enough LGBTQ spaces in her time in uni that she has a good idea of the breadth of identities that are out there. She rubs her thumb across Jon’s ring and thinks, in the voice of the gender and equality training instructor with sharp red heels and a “fun” black dress who’d stood in front of the seminar she’d been mandated to take for one of her courses:

Asexuality. A lack of sexual attraction. An aversion or repulsion to sexual activities.

It had been a small word on a large black-and-white slide, crammed in next to aromanticism and overcrowded by a myriad of other sexual identities discussed at length. It had been… quite a comprehensive training, Georgie thinks as she quits fidgeting with Jon’s ring and instead threads their fingers together. For a moment, she considers asking what he means anyway, but she quickly dismisses the thought. She wants to be supportive, and as Jon looks at her with open, trusting eyes and a faint smile, she decides that she knows enough. She doesn’t want to make it awkward, and with things like these, she’s found that asking Jon to explain his feelings in plain terms can be… well, awkward is certainly a word for it. Best just not to bring it up, she decides.

Still, she feels the need to ask, “Can I kiss you?” because the red no sex sign blinking on and off in her head is frustratingly vague on what, exactly, is contained within that stipulation. When Jon voices his assent, she tips her head up and presses a quick kiss to his chin before kissing him on the lips, wiping the disgruntled look off them.

So yes to kissing, she thinks, tucking that away next to no sex. Yes kissing, no sex. Yes holding hands, she adds as she squeezes Jon’s hand in hers and he smiles at her, warm and soft, that special side of Jon that she only sees on occasion. No pet names, she adds a week later when she tries out sweetheart and Jon’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. No foot rubs, when Jon swats at her and says, between giggles, that he’s awfully ticklish. Yes back rubs. Yes cuddling. No PDA. No touching with wet or sticky hands. Yes brushing hair.

That’s as far as she gets before, one year and two months after she begins dating Jonathan Sims, she stops. After which point she stops keeping track, because, well. There’s really no point anymore, is there?

.

.

.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says quickly, holding his hands in the air in a placating gesture. He scoots a few inches away from Jon on the couch for good measure, unsure just how much space Jon needs right now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize—I should apologize. I should have asked first.”

“It’s just—” Jon makes a frustrated noise, and when he takes his hands away his cheeks are dark and he won’t meet Tim’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s okay,” Tim repeats, watching with a twisting feeling in his stomach as Jon apparently notices that the button of his trousers is still undone and quickly goes to redo it. His eyes follow the movements of Jon’s hands automatically, and just as automatically, he notes the distinct lack of a tent in the front of Jon’s trousers. The same… cannot be said for his own. Particularly after nearly twenty minutes of kissing, which Tim had very much enjoyed.

Christ, had Jon been uncomfortable with that as well? All in a rush, Tim says, “Was the kissing bad too?” Then, he winces—fuck, that sounded accusatory—and adds, “It- it’s okay if it was, I just- I didn’t know, and I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, Jon.”

“No, the- the kissing was fine, it’s just...” Jon makes an aborted motion with his hands, like he’s trying and failing to find the words.

“... complicated?” Tim supplies.

Jon nods mutely.

“That’s okay,” Tim says, and he finds that he means it. “We don’t have to do anything more than kissing if you don’t want to.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s searching for the right words, the crease in his forehead deepening every moment he fails to find them. Finally, he lets out a long, labored breath, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and says, “Yes, that… that might be best.”

Tim studies Jon’s face. It’s pinched and a bit stiff, like Jon would very much like to crawl out of his skin or melt into a puddle and disappear. “You sure?” he feels compelled to ask, placing a hand carefully on Jon’s knee. “You, uh. You seem a bit unsure.”

Jon sits there a moment more, spine straight and rigid, before melting slightly against Tim’s hand, his face slipping into something more relaxed but no less unhappy. “Yes.” He hesitates a moment, then says, a bit stiltedly, “I’m, um. I’m asexual. Since we’re already talking about this, I… I may as well get that out in the open as well.”

Oh. A few pieces slot into place, and Tim says with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell—?” He cuts himself off and offers Jon a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude of me. Thank you for telling me.”

“We’re dating,” Jon says bluntly. “It was going to come up eventually.”

“Still.” Tim shrugs, then reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it tightly in his. “Thanks.” He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. Jon makes a disgruntled noise, which Tim thinks is adorable. Then, because it feels appropriate, he says, “Y’know, Danny… Danny was asexual. Aromantic too, actually. We had a big talk about it a few years ago where he sort of… laid it all out for me.” No sex, no romance, no thank you, had been the overall gist of it. Tim makes a new box for Jon and fills it in with the words no sex, yes romance, it’s complicated.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly, with that same sort of sadness in his eyes that he gets every time Tim mentions Danny, something much gentler than pity and significantly less cloying. If Tim notices the faint discomfort that accompanies it, something that whispers that isn’t my definition of asexuality, we’re not the same, you don’t understand if one were to listen closely enough, he doesn’t let on.

Tim does, however, notice the discomfort in Jon’s eyes—now mixed with anger—when two years, six months, and seven days later, he accuses Tim of murder. But by then, their days of hand-holding and nose-kissing are far, far behind them.

.

.

.

“Maybe he just needs to get laid,” Melanie says with a groan, lying on Georgie’s couch and staring at the ceiling. The Admiral is curled up on her lap, purring contentedly. She scratches absentmindedly under his chin.

“What, Jon?” Georgie appears in Melanie’s field of vision, wielding a damp wooden spoon and frowning.

“No. No.” Melanie shakes her head emphatically. “Martin. He’s been all… sulky lately. I think he’s still upset that Jon came to me instead of him for help, but I don’t know why he has to be all… touchy about it.”

“Ah. Well, you know, he is a bit hung up on Jon. At least, according to you.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Melanie says grumpily. “Besides, didn’t you say that Jon went on about Martin, like, all the time? Sounds like he’s got it bad as well. Maybe they could just… y’know.”

“Melanie.”

“What?” Melanie tries to shoot Georgie a glare, but it’s obstructed by the back of the couch. “I’m on my last nerve, Georgie!”

“I know, honey. But Jon’s really not… well, he’s not very open about these sorts of things. Getting him to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth when we were together.”

“It still baffles me that you used to date.”

“He’s very sweet when you get to know him!” There’s a pause, a few clatters from the kitchen. “Besides, even if he and Martin got around to talking, Jon… well, he doesn’t.”

Melanie frowns. “Doesn’t what?”

“Have sex.”

“Really?” Melanie sits up, disturbing the Admiral, who lets out an irritated mrpp before adjusting himself accordingly and curling back up on her lap. “So when you were together…?”

Georgie shakes her head. “Nope. Never.”

“Huh.” Melanie thinks for a moment. “Is he like… religious or something?”

Georgie chuckles. “Jon? No, not at all. He’s asexual.”

“Isn’t that like… that thing that sponges are? Where they self-reproduce?”

“Seriously?”

Melanie scowls at the incredulous look Georgie’s giving her. “What? I’m not being a- a dick, I’ve just never heard of it before.”

“You were a YouTuber. Your job was to be internet famous.”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

Georgie shoots Melanie a grin. “Sorry. Basically, it means that Jon doesn’t do sex. Like… at all. He just… doesn’t.”

“Huh,” Melanie says again.

“Yeah.” Georgie turns back to the stove. “Now, come here. Tell me if there’s too much salt?”

“Sorry Admiral,” Melanie whispers as she deposits him onto the floor and crosses the room to wrap her arms around Georgie’s waist from behind and take the bite of sauce on the spoon Georgie holds out for her. “Mm, tastes great. As always.”

And in the back of her mind, Melanie adds another line to the section labeled Jonathan Sims and writes, with careful handwriting, he doesn’t.

.

.

.

Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Martin pauses the tape and rubs his hands over his eyes. His cheeks are burning red, and he takes a few minutes to just breathe.

Doesn’t what? Doesn’t date? Doesn’t kiss? Doesn’t—

Martin stops that train of thought before it goes any further, the flush on his face growing in intensity. It’s none of my business, he tells himself as he ejects the tape and turns it over in his hands a few times before sliding it back into the small box it had come from.

He still can’t help but think about it. He thinks about it before the Unknowing, when Jon hesitates just a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug and whispering, I… I’ll be back, Martin. Then we can talk. He thinks about it when Jon’s in his coma, when Martin sits at his bedside and loses himself in daydreams and what-ifs. He thinks about it when Jon’s hand is clasped in his and he’s leading Martin out of cloying white fog and sea-salt air, his shirt speckled with bits of dark liquid that Martin tries to pretend isn’t blood. He thinks about it on the way to the safehouse, Jon leaning against his side, Martin’s hand clasped firmly in his.

He thinks about it a lot, in the confines of the wooden walls that let in the growing chill of the Scottish countryside.

Jon doesn’t.

He knows what Jon does. Jon makes him breakfast most days, eggs and toast and sometimes waffles, which Martin’s always considered a guilty pleasure but that he’s had more times in the past week and a half than he’s had for the past ten years. Jon puts his head on Martin’s shoulder when they sit on the couch and read, flipping through the dusty novels they’d found tucked in cardboard boxes underneath the bed that Jon had wrinkled his nose at but has been slowly making his way through nevertheless. Jon clings to Martin like his life depends on it when they sleep, and Martin will wake in the morning with one arm slung across his chest, a leg between his, and a sizeable portion of hair tickling at his nose.

And, nine days into their stay, Jon smiles at Martin as he shuffles into the kitchen in the morning, stands on his toes, and presses a soft kiss to Martin’s lips.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently, still half-asleep and trying to process what he’s 98% sure is their first kiss. He’d be 100% sure except for the fact that Jon kissed him like it was nothing, like it was easy, like it was something they do every morning.

The smile slips from Jon’s face, and he looks nervous. “I- I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

“No, no, it’s- it’s okay,” Martin hastens to say, taking one of Jon’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “Just- just surprised, that’s all. I, um. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to kiss me, given that we haven’t…” He gestures absently, his face heating up. Stop talking, Martin. “Yeah,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” Jon says with a frown. “I… apologize for giving you that impression. I- I love you, Martin—I have no problems with kissing you.”

Warmth courses through Martin, as it always does when Jon tells him that he loves him. It all feels so unreal sometimes that he’s here, with Jon, away from it all and living in quiet domesticity. “Oh,” he says, face flushed. “A- all right, then. Great!”

“Great,” Jon echoes.

“Just- just thought maybe you didn’t—”

Martin clamps his mouth shut, face heating up more, this time in embarrassment. Shut up, Martin.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t… what?”

“Um.” Martin rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Kiss?”

Jon looks at Martin blankly. “Oh. Well, I- I do.”

“Right, yeah, I- I put that together. When we, um. You know.”

Jon looks amused. “Kissed?”

“Yep, that,” Martin squeaks out.

They look at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Jon presses another kiss to Martin’s lips and finishes making the waffles and kisses Martin again when he hands Jon his tea, and it’s really quite lovely indeed.

So Martin adds Jon kisses to his mental list of Jon does and finds a sole remainder on the list of Jon doesn’t. And it’s fine with him, he decides, if Jon doesn’t want to have sex. He just wants Jon, in whatever way Jon will have him.

Jon doesn’t do sex, he thinks as he kisses Jon goodnight.

So, three days later, when they’re on the couch and they’ve kissed until Martin is red-faced and breathless and Jon pulls back with a pinched expression on his face, Martin assumes—with hot embarrassment coursing through him—that he’s somehow gone too far and strayed into sex territory and made Jon uncomfortable.

Then, Jon says with cheeks dark and eyes focused resolutely on Martin’s chest, “Martin, would��� would you like to move to the bedroom?” and Martin’s thoughts grind to a halt.

“Sorry, what?” is all he can think to say.

Jon’s cheeks grow incrementally darker. “I am asking,” he says slowly, like the words are clunky and unwieldy in his mouth, “if you would like to have sexual intercourse. With me, of course, I- I hope that was implied.”

Martin’s aware that his mouth is quite literally hanging open in shock. He closes it quickly before swallowing and saying, “I… yeah, Jon, I- I’d love that, but I thought you—”

He clamps his mouth shut again, a touch too late. Jon’s forehead creases in confusion and he says, “I what?”

Martin hems and haws for a moment before biting the bullet and saying, all in a rush, “I thought you didn’t like sex.”

Jon’s frown deepens. “What? Why?”

And god, Martin doesn’t want to admit that he’s been thinking about office gossip for nearly a year, but he’s dug his grave—he may as well lie in it. He sighs, worries his hands on his lap, and says, “I… may have listened to a tape where Melanie said that Georgie said that you… didn’t.”

Jon looks at Martin blankly for a moment before his expression flattens into something that’s equal parts irritated and resigned. “Ah. Right. That… that makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin says emphatically, placing his hand atop Jon’s and squeezing. “I- I didn’t mean to hear it; I was listening to the statements and it was just there.”

“No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Jon sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“What?”

Jon makes an aborted, dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ve… never been good at explaining my own preferences. I never did with Georgie, just… told her I was asexual and left it at that. I suppose she took that to mean that I, er. Didn’t.”

Asexual. Martin has a vague notion of what that means—he’s been in enough online LGBTQ spaces to have encountered the word before, but he’s never really looked into it much himself. If pressed, he thinks he’d also assume it meant that Jon didn’t. Something a bit guilty twists within him at that thought, amplified by his next thought that Georgie shouldn’t have assumed, because, well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it? Still, he feels the need to voice it; he squeezes Jon’s hand again and says, “It’s not your fault that she just- just made assumptions about what you wanted, Jon.”

“Yes, but it’s my fault that I never corrected her.” Jon makes a face. “Or Tim, now that I think about it. I… I suppose I’m just not very good at talking about these things. Particularly because my own preferences are…” Jon’s pained expression deepens. “Christ, I don’t want to say complicated again, but there really is no other word for it.”

That’s not your fault either, Martin wants to say, but he knows Jon will just contradict him again, and he’ll repeat himself, and then they’ll just be talking in circles, and that won’t help anything. It’s frustrating, but it’s the truth. Still, Martin finds the words waiting on his lips when he opens his mouth, so he shuts it again and thinks for a moment, promising himself later. I’ll tell him later. Finally, he says carefully, “Do you… do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t want to assume.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, I don’t want to keep assuming, I suppose, given that I’ve already assumed quite a lot.” Quieter: “Sorry, again.”

“It’s fi—” Jon cuts off, takes a breath. “Th… thank you, Martin.” He hesitates a moment, then says haltingly, “I- I do want to talk about it, but I don’t—” He makes a frustrated noise. “—I don’t know how.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a moment. “You said it’s complicated, yeah?” When Jon nods mutely, he continues, “Would it help if you described how you feel right now? That’s- that’s less complicated, right?”

Jon’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “I… suppose.”

“All right, then.” Martin makes a go-on gesture, then rests his hand atop Jon’s and applies a gentle pressure.

Jon takes a few deep breaths, squints at nothing, makes a few wordless noises, then says bluntly, “I want to have sex with you.”

Martin tries really, really hard not to blush, but he doesn’t think he quite succeeds given how hot his face feels when he says, “Right, okay.” His voice is a bit higher-pitched than normal; he hopes that Jon doesn’t notice. “And, um. Do you always… want to have sex with me? Or just right now.”

Jon grimaces. “That’s where it gets complicated.” He makes an I-don’t-know gesture with his free hand and says, “No? Yes? I don’t know, Martin. I’m told that not wanting sex all the time is- is normal, that- that you have to be in the mood, but apparently I’m just supposed to know when I’ll be in the mood and when I won’t be, and that- that doesn’t really work for me.”

“Are you—” Martin cringes internally, but forces the words out. “—in the mood right now?”

“Well,” Jon grumbles, “not anymore, but I was. And it’s complicated, because even if I am, I- I don’t always want to be touched, but how do you explain that to someone, how- how do you tell someone that it’s mostly no but sometimes yes and there’s a very good chance that I might change my mind halfway through and decide that it’s no after all?”

“I think,” Martin says patiently, “that you just say that.”

Jon gives Martin a look. “Martin.”

“What? It’s true!” Martin gives Jon as reassuring a smile as he can muster. “It made sense to me, at least.”

“Yes, but that’s not—” Jon makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not whether or not it makes sense, it’s whether or not somebody is willing to put up with a sexual partner who doesn’t know whether or not they’re going to want to have sex on any given day, whether they- they’ll be repulsed or interested or want to give but not receive or the other way around or- or something else that I haven’t thought of but that will likely happen because consistency is, apparently, off the cards for me entirely.”

“Hey, hey,” Martin says gently, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. “Jon, look at me.” When Jon looks, albeit reluctantly, Martin continues, “I can’t speak for other people, and I- I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how I feel, and I… I’m willing. No, more than willing—I love you, Jon, all of you, and if this is how you feel, then I love that about you too. Whatever you’re willing to give me, it… it’ll be enough. You’re enough.”

Jon’s cheeks darken and he looks away. After a long moment, he says in a stiff voice, “Well. Thank you, Martin.” Then, a bit softer: “I… I love you too.” He looks at Martin then and offers him a small, weak smile. “It’s… well, it’s still awkward, but it’s not quite as bad—talking about all of this—as I thought it would be.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Talk to me about it, that is.”

Jon’s smile turns a bit hesitant. “So you would really be okay if I… if I never asked again? To, er. To have sex.”

“Yes,” Martin says, without hesitation.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. “And- and if I said that I did? Want to? That… that would be okay too? Even if I’d already said that I didn’t?”

“Yep.”

Jon looks down at his hands where they’re twisted tightly in the hem of his jumper, then back up at Martin. “All right.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “And if… if I said that I wanted to have sex… now?”

Ah. It looks like Martin’s not done blushing quite yet. “Yep, that- that’s fine with me,” he squeaks out, then cringes internally. Fine? Really?

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t seem offended; if anything, he seems amused, his mouth quirking up into a small smirk. “All right, then.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Martin’s lips, soft and chaste and ever-so-slightly lingering before he pulls away. “I, er. I think I’d like to just kiss for a bit, though.” His smile turns teasing. “Foreplay is very important, after all.”

Martin groans and gives Jon a look, his face likely fully tomato-red by now. “Jon.”

“Need to make sure we’re fully in the mood before beginning proceedings—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Martin says, a giggle slipping out around the words. Then, because he’s nothing if not a little mischievous himself, he leans forward and captures Jon’s lips in a kiss, significantly less chaste and a touch more insistent, pressing until Jon is leaned back against the arm of the couch and Martin is hovering over him. Martin disengages from the kiss so he can marvel at the flushed, wide-eyed expression on Jon’s face. “Like that?” he says innocently.

Jon blinks up at him for a few seconds, like he’s not entirely sure how to process everything in front of him, before he smiles, a warm, happy thing that captures Martin’s heart entirely and steals it away. “I do believe that was adequate, yes. Perhaps you should do it again though, just to make sure.”

So Martin does. I love him, he thinks as he kisses Jon on the couch and kisses him again on the bed, kisses him in the spot between his shoulder blades where he always carries tension and in the dip of his clavicle and on the inside of his thigh. And when he’s curled up next to Jon after, he presses another kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and wraps his arms around him and quietly discards his mental lists of does and doesn’t. He’ll start from scratch, he decides, and after a moment’s thought, he comes up with two more lists, upon which it’s surprisingly easy to add item after item after item.

Jon likes to be kissed. Jon likes eggs and toast, but not jam, and likes his tea black and slightly oversteeped. Jon doesn’t like wool because he finds it itchy. Jon doesn’t like white wine, but he likes red, the kinds that are too dry for Martin’s tastes.

Jon likes Martin, and Martin likes him too. So, so much. And even when things change, when Jon finds a white wine he likes at a restaurant they visit and he takes his tea once with honey and enjoys it and he goes through a period where he doesn’t enjoy open-mouthed kisses and Martin adjusts his lists accordingly, that remains.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

imagine: Chris’s survival instincts kick in and he fuckin shoves Nova onto the floor and runs. Nova may or may not get injured from this. Chris then feels guilty about it and doesn’t explain to anyone what really happened because he knows she’ll get in serious trouble for that, possibly removed from the house even

(follows directly on this post)

CW; Noncon touching, noncon kissing, very brief emeto ref, Nova's fucked-up whumper discussed, past noncon reference, conditioned response, trauma response

"It'll help you feel better," She coos against his ear, and Chris's stomach does backflips around inside of him. It feels like his panic knocks against his rib cage like wings beating desperately to escape, but he can't do anything more than pant, mouth open, pulling in air that smells like Nova's shampoo and skin.

"It, it, it d-doesn't-" He can barely force out the words, his tongue nearly as frozen as the tips of his fingers, hands down gripped into his sheets, fabric twisted until the fitted sheet is pulling off one end of the bed. "Please, it's, it's not, please-"

"You don't have to be shy," Nova whispers, kisses his cheek, his jaw, back to his neck. She's already sucked a red mark there, right where a collar used to be, once upon a time.

When Chris swallows, he can feel the leather he hasn't worn in years, tight around his throat. He can very nearly hear the clinking of the metal tag at the front.

Her hand is untucking his compression shirt, baring skin to the air, to the heat of her hand. She's sucking on his neck again, biting down hard with her teeth, a flash of pain and then the heat and wet of her tongue, and he groans, disgusted and shivering.

Her other hand is hard at work, and he hates it, he always hated it, he never wanted hands there. Or anything. His wrists jerk, he wants to push her away or tap or hit or do something, but his body is still, only shifting his hips into the rhythm of her hands on sheer instinct from training that his body hasn't forgotten, no matter how badly he wants to.

"I'll make you feel better," She says. Her voice is so soft and sweet, higher-pitched, entirely unlike Laken's deeper husky almost-growl. There's no maliciousness in her face when she pulls back to meet his eyes, no sparkle of joy at how helpless he is.

There's something else there.

Genuine, open desire.

Is that better? Or worse?

"Nova," He says, voice strangled and barely-there, nearly a whimper, "You h-have to stop to, touch-... stop, stop, touching m-me, I can't, I can't do, I I I I-"

"But you were crying," She replies, rubbing her thumb over him between his legs in a way that makes his legs jerk under her weight, his breath catch in his throat. "Because of your fight. I can fix that. You had a bad day, and I'm here. I'll make it better, Chris."

Something filters into Chris's thoughts, cracks through the ice of his fear.

Don't be shy, sweetheart, I've had a hard day and I want something pretty to fix it.

She tucks her chin just a little, head tilted to the side. Her top teeth press, just a little, into her lower lip.

Tell me how much you want it, darlin'. You know that always cheers me right up.

"I want to do this with you," She whispers.

It breaks the spell.

Chris lets go of the sheets, puts his hands up, and shoves.

Nova falls backwards off of his legs, tries to twist and catch herself, loses her balance and goes off the bed, smacking hard on one side into the rug on the floor. She looks up at him, long hair hanging in her face, nearly covering up one eye.

He stares back at the shock, the lack of comprehension. His heart is pounding in his ears, the unwanted awful warmth in the pit of his stomach is still there demanding attention, release he doesn't want. He looks down at himself, face red with shame, and back up to meet her eyes as they fill with tears.

"I'm trying to help," She says, and he has to force himself not to apologize at how hurt she sounds.

"I-I... I, um, I know you are," He manages, with difficulty. Words are getting harder. There's a noise inside of him, more feeling than sound, buzzing against his fingers and toes, pushing against the inside of his skin. It makes the words he needs to say harder to find. "But, but, but, but this-... this, this doesn't, um, this-... doesn't... it, it, it it it doesn't, doesn't, doesn't... help me."

"Yes, it does." Nova sits slowly up. One of her shoulder straps is falling down her arm. "It's what makes us feel better, because we're-"

"Not," Chris interrupts, putting a hand up to stop her before she can finish. He knows what comes next. He knows.

Don't cry, Handler Petrus whispers in the back of his mind. Not my fault you had second thoughts about this, slut. Should've had them before you signed up to get on your back for me.

"I tried-... I tried to, to say no." He pushes himself further back into the corner where the headboard of his bed meets the wall. Pulls his knees up to his chest, hands up over his face. One thumb rubs over the healing scar on his forehead, the other hand runs back and forth over his hair, feeling the softness of it, soothing himself with the motion.

"That's how you do it," Nova says, sounding puzzled. He doesn't look up at her again. "One person says don't do it, stop, please, and the other person does anyway, and then everything is better after."

"Better for-... who?"

He doesn't really need the answer to the question. He knows.

"You," She says, pulling herself to her feet. He sees her as a blur in the corner of his eyes and he doesn't look. He feels himself rocking, forward and back - tries to still himself - then starts rocking again. "And my Miss. Her friends. Everyone feels better, after."

"Not me. Please, please, please go."

"But-"

"Nova." He looks up at her, tears building, and she looks back, wide-eyed and startled by the expression on his face. "Please. Please."

"You really didn't like it?" She tucks her hair back behind her ear. "But... you didn't?"

He shakes his head, slowly, digs his hands into his own stomach, starts to tap, desperate to soothe the disgust slithering around underneath his skin.

"Was I not doing it right?"

"I don't-... I, I, I don't, um. I don't like... being, being t-touched... there." He can barely force out the words, they're spat out like disgust and not the fear he really feels. "I, I-I don't want y-you to, to, to to to to... touch me. At all."

For a second, he thinks she'll hit him.

Her face goes very pale and then suddenly bright red in the cheeks, and she turns away from him, races from his room, slams the door shut behind herself. He hears the sound of her footsteps down the hall, another door slamming - probably the room she shares with Sarita.

His phone, long-ago forgotten on the bed, vibrates with a text. He looks over, but the words swim and don't come together. He can tell the text is from Laken, but he can't read what it says.

He can't read.

Chris slowly slumps sideways, against the wall, lets his head thump there once.

What now?

-

FIRST | SECOND | THIRD

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @whumpfigure @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

[lunar-wandering]

reverse reverse

so, i wrote a one shot for my Uno Reverse Card Swap AU- and i’ve decided to put all my oneshots and drabbles for it in one fic on ao3.

...anyways though, boom, heres the fic, bon appetit-

Word Count: 1.4k

Read on Ao3

-

MK tossed the staff as hard as he could, his frustration at his lack of progress seeping into the move. Wukong briefly looked shocked for a split moment (a very rare sight to see), before he ducked down, letting the staff sail over him.

Having missed it's initial target, the staff crashed into the electric panel on the wall, loud enough to grab Mei and Red Son's attention, from where they had been training on their side of the room.

"....Uh." Red Son said, watching how the electric panel sparked and hissed. "That's probably not good."

And then the training room doors slammed closed.

"Ah. That's very not good." The fire demon holstered the water gun he'd been using, walking over to inspect the damage.

"I'm sorry!" MK said, running over and pulling the staff out of the electric panel. Surprisingly enough, he didn't get shocked, instinctively twirling the staff in a circle before sliding it into his pocket. "I'm- I'm really sorry, can you fix it??"

"...If we were on the other side, yes." Red Son poked the panel, pulling his hand back just before a stray spark could hit it. "As of right now...I'd say we're pretty much trapped."

"What if somebody needs Dragonmist or Spitfire though?" Mei asked, "We won't be able to help if we're stuck in here."

"..I'm sure Sandy or my parents could do the job just fine..." Red Son mumbled, barely paying any attention to what Mei was saying, as he turned on the electronic band on his arm, a holographic screen appearing in front of his face. "I think I can get the doors to open again if I can reactivate the system....But with all the changes I had to recently make to prevent a certain few hackers from getting in the system again it might take me a while."

That seemed to be all the incentive that Mei needed, and MK watched in confusion as she took a few steps back.

Said confusion changed to comprehension just seconds before Mei took off, running at the door at full speed.

...And slamming into said door, falling backwards and landing hard on her back. The loud clang made MK cover his ears, and startled Red Son out of his focus.

"You- did you just try to break through the door?" Red Son knelt beside Mei, poking her to check if she was still alive (which she was). "The door that I specifically designed to be unbreakable?"

Mei only groaned in response, accepting MK's help in lifting herself back up into a standing position. As MK steadied her, he looked over her shoulder, noticing how...quiet Wukong had been the whole time.

The Monkey King was just standing there, exactly where MK had left him, in fact, it didn't seem like his mentor had moved at all.

MK lightly tugged on both Red Son and Mei's jackets to draw their attention over to Wukong

Just in time for Wukong to let out a scream of frustration, taking the fake circlet off of his head and throwing it at the wall- karma immediately playing it's hand as the circlet bounced off the wall, flinging back to hit Wukong on the nose, before reverting back to being a strand of hair.

"Fuck." Wukong hissed, staring at the hair that now rested on the floor as though it had personally offended him.

"....Monkey King? Are.....you okay?" MK quietly asked, Red Son and Mei also looking at Wukong in concern.

"I'm fucking fine- Leave me alone!" Wukong glared at them, before turning around and sitting on the floor, cross-legged, his tail swishing back and forth in irritation. MK, Red Son, and Mei shared a worried look.

"...I'll get back to trying to unlock the doors?" Red Son said, "Also Mei, please do not try slamming yourself into the door again. It's not going to work, and I really don't know why you thought that was a good idea in the first place."

"I didn't think it was a good idea, I just thought we might as well try it." Mei shrugged, "I did think it might go faster than just you trying to hack your own system though."

MK tuned out the bickering between his two friends as he focused in on Wukong's back. The Monkey King's fur was all....bristly, standing on end, as though he'd been startled. In between that, his little outburst a few moments ago, how his tail was rapidly swishing from side to side, and the fact he was chewing on his thumbnail, well, MK could only conclude one thing.

Wukong was scared.

As for why he was scared, MK had a few guesses. Most of which pertained to mountains and furnaces.

MK wondered if he should give Wukong some of the advice Macaque had given to him during their last therapy session- but almost instantly dismissed the idea. Wukong would definitely pick up on the fact that MK was quoting Macaque, and the Monkey King simply refused to take any advice the shadow monkey handed out.

MK couldn't just walk over to Wukong and try to distract him either. For one, he had no idea how to even start that kind of conversation, not to mention that Wukong didn't look like he wanted to talk to anyone right now. He couldn't tell Wukong that he knew that the Monkey King was scared either, from what he'd manage to garner about Wukong's personality, that would surely just send Wukong down a path of denial and overcomplicate the whole situation.

Which only left one option. Waiting.

Many people didn't know this, because of how quiet and reserved MK tended to be, but he absolutely hated waiting.

"Hey, Red Son?" MK asked, interrupting Mei and Red Son's petty bickering. "...How long exactly will it take you to hack the doors back open?"

"Uh...." Red Son glances at the holographic numbers hovering over his arm. "...I think the shortest amount of time I could do it would by 15 minutes, at most about 2 hours."

Out of the corner of his eye, MK could see Wukong's back tense, and something tells MK that even 15 minutes would be just a bit too long.

...This was all his fault. If he'd been paying more attention, hadn't gotten so frustrated, they wouldn't even be in this mess.

MK pulled the staff out of his pocket, looking at how it lay small and innocent in his hand. He looked back over at Wukong, who was still resolutely facing away from the rest of them.

He took a step towards the control panel.

"...MK." Mei noted his movement. "MK, what are you doing?"

MK doesn't give a response, the staff extending in his hands.

This was his fault. He's going to fix it.

"Wh- hey, MK, you'll get yourself electrocuted you-" Red Son takes notice of MK's actions a moment too late.

MK shoved the staff into the electrical panel, ignoring the way the electricity made his arms go numb and his nerves tingle. He'd been forced to get used to the sensation a long time ago. Focusing as much as he could, he grabbed hold of the warm power that lay within him, channeling it through the staff and into the control panel.

He didn't stop until he heard the whoosh of the doors opening, and was certain that they would stay open.

He pulled the staff out of the control panel, setting it down as he rolled his shoulders, shaking the tingles out of his arms. He registered Mei and Red Son staring at him in concern, but purposefully ignored it.

A breeze went past him, and suddenly Wukong was standing on the outside of the room, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet, wearing an obviously fake smile.

"So uh, MK, the next time you fight me-" (Wukong' refused to actively call it training, instead saying that MK was simply fighting him for real. Since he was actually somewhat teaching MK now, nobody dared to call him out on it.) "Try seeing if you can catch me off guard on Flower Fruit Mountain, yeah? Yep, okay, uh- fuck, I forgot something with the monkeys, should make sure they didn't fucking destroy it, so uh, bye!"

Wukong vanished, leaving behind no trace that he had even been there. MK blinked, processing the Monkey King's parting words.

Did.....did Wukong just invite him to Flower Fruit Mountain for the first time?

[clouds-rambles]

Birthday Love Letter

Happy birthday to one of my main comfort characters. I love you so much Xiao and I’ll do anything for you.

You and Xiao have been partners of millennia, as much as Xiao dislikes the constant, yearly, birthdays he can’t say no to you or your gifts. Also suspend your disbelief for some of these things lmao

Pairing(s);  Xiao x reader

Warnings; fluff, angst, hurt no comfort

Keep reading under the cut!

My love Xiao,

It’s a shame that I’ve broken millennia long tradition of bothering you on your birthday but as you’re aware our line of work can drive us apart for longer periods of time. And it’s likely you can’t really comprehend the pile of work I have right now in the office since Rex Lapis’ death. As much as he deserves retirement I am very tired of this constant influx of paperwork, I cannot wait to get back on the field again.

Anyway, enough about me. I hope you’re having a good birthday and I hope before reading this Goldet has already surprised you with the almond tofu you love to eat. I know, I know, you like making the tofu but take it as a gift from me while you wait for me to come back to Wangshu. 

I have another gift for you but you can’t receive it until I get back from my work. I promise it’s worth the wait though.

You know Ganyu keeps asking about you. Is it true that you haven’t seen here in the better part of 300 years? As much as I don’t like nagging you, especially on this day, you should really visit her. She talks about you like the children of Liyue talk about their older siblings. As cute as it is in foresight, in hindsight I’ve heard the same story about you three times since being back. And the kicker? I was there when the thing happened. Please Ganyu I’m begging I know the story, I know it well I was there.

Zhongli also misses you, he mentions how often Ganyu and I visit but you’re yet to go. It makes me a little sad, even if you just stop by for a cup of tea I think that will make him more than happy. He’s a mortal now Xiao, I would hate to see you so distraught if you didn’t get to see him before his mortal life is over.

Enough about me nagging. I’ll be home soon enough, as much as you hate to admit it I love your hugs and I’m dearly missing them. You won’t say you are but I know how you melt into my hugs. It makes me want to love and cherish you forever more.

You know I remember your first birthday we celebrated, do you? We had known each other for 100 years, which in reality is a short time, but that was my first 100 years being blessed with mortality. Everything I did was fast for no reason. Not the point. I travelled up Jueyen Karst to pick you a bunch of flowers after taking a decade to pry your birthday out of you and I presented them to you. I remember when we first started really opening up to each other you told me about how you had chosen to preserve the flowers. Do you have them still, or have they decayed completely? I don’t understand much about flowers so I’m not sure how long flowers keep. Have you kept other things I’ve given you. I have, if you look in our room in the Inn you should find most of the things you’ve given me. That’s our little secret though hehe. 

I should wrap up this letter before I get too engrossed and write you a books worth of letter. 

I love you Xiao, and I hope you have a great birthday and I hope you liked the tofu I made. I’ll see you soon

[name]

The last letter that he had ever received from you five years ago to the day. Five more birthdays he hasn’t spent with you. Five years in terms of immortals shouldn’t feel this long, some centuries have blinked past before he can often not find memories of random centuries. So why have these five years been so painful? Xiao has been alone before, not in a long time but he has done it.

Just the weight of your death weighs heavy on his shoulders, your death is much heavier than the others he’s collected. He had known you the longest, fought the most battles with you, loved you the most, cherished you the most...

Xiao remembers when he got word of your death. Two weeks after his birthday the ex-geo archon himself turns up at the Inn. Zhongli had made it clear that if the adepti wanted to see him or not was up to them, so seeing the ex archon before Xiao was more than baffling.

When the news was delivered that you were assassinated in your sleep by an unknown assailment sounded like a sick joke. And in all honesty it was just a sick joke until your funeral a week and a half later.

So many people turned up wanting to wish the now dead adepti well wishes and comfort in the afterlife. So many flowers, so many people, so much chatter. As much as he hates the latter two Xiao endured the service wanting to say goodbye like everyone else.

Xiao didn’t notice himself hyperventilating until Zhongli had embraced him and helped him settle his breaths. Zhongli couldn’t find himself to utter words of comfort for the person that Xiao has spent millennia with. Yours and his relationship was beyond mortal comprehension since you had spent many hundreds of generations together.

 Xiao shakes his head and wipes his eyes. If only he went to see you on his birthday. You were still alive on his birthday just tucked away in the harbour. If only Xiao’s aversion of crowds and people were what kept him away from you over the Rex Lapis crisis. If only he had-

The blaming of the self isn’t a healthy thing to do, Xiao had blamed himself for almost everything that resulted in your death within the first year of your death. There wasn’t much else to blame himself about.

Xiao had even contemplated joining you but was hit by the realisation that one you would want him to keep living and two if he dies there’s no telling what millennia long repressed, festering demons would unleash upon the country he has sworn to protect.

Xiao turns and notices that Goldet had snuck up when he was lost in self pity and thought and had left him some tofu, just how he liked it.

Maybe if he can’t be with you the least he could do is enjoy his birthday just like how you ‘made’ him do all these years.

Xiao cries tonight more than he wants to, and if Goldet heard his weeps, she doesn’t mention anything. 

[thefactsofthematter]

hi bestie <3 you said send in some requests, so i'm suggesting:

javid with, "it's not okay! you're not fine!"?

i hope you have a good day !!!

hi bestie <333 i had so much fun with this, i haven't done a short little fic in ages!! here's a 2.7k javid fic - a college au and a classic (emotional) hurt/comfort type deal, heavy on the comfort ;)

-

"Wanna come for dinner at my parents' house tonight?"

Davey is laying on Jack's couch after his last class of the day, since Jack's apartment is just off campus, and it's a ridiculously convenient place to go nap after a long day of school. He honestly spends more time here than at his own apartment that he shares with his sister, a short train ride away.

"I'd love to," Jack replies, his gaze still glued to his computer screen, "but I totally forgot I have an art history paper due at midnight, analyzing a painting, and I haven't started. It needs to be ten pages, and I don't even have an outline. I'm gonna sit here and write until my eyeballs fall out."

Davey laughs softly.

"That sucks. Do you at least have some research done?"

Jack turns to him with completely dead eyes.

"Not a single academic source."

Davey glances at the clock. Jack has seven hours to pull this off, which is doable, but... intense. It would've been a lot easier to spread it out over a few afternoons, and it'll be a painful squeeze to get ten comprehensible pages of writing done tonight. Jack can write decently fast, but his spelling and grammar are atrocious, so he'll have to factor in editing time too. Davey is not envious of these circumstances in the slightest.

"Shit. Good luck. That sounds awful, but I'm rooting for you. What's your prof's late assignment policy?"

Jack, entirely beaten down, leans forward to rest his forehead on his keyboard.

"He won't accept them past the due date without a good reason... which I don't have. I'm just an idiot and forgot to put it in my planner— thank god Romeo texted me today to ask if I was done."

Davey pushes himself up and walks over to where Jack is sitting at his little dining table, under the constantly-flickering fluorescent bulb. He wraps his arms around Jack's shoulders and kisses the back of his neck.

"You got this. I'll come back here after dinner and bring you leftovers, okay? My mom's gonna be sad you couldn't make it, so she'll totally pack up a plate for you."

"You don't have to come all the way here," Jack sighs. "Your place is closer to your parents, and this is out of your way— you have work in the morning anyways, so you should go home and go to bed. I'll be fine, I'll probably write faster alone anyways."

Davey kisses him again, this time leaning around to plant one on his cheek.

"If you're sure." Jack's plan is probably the smart move, since Davey's shifts at his stupid coffee shop job start ridiculously early, and coming here would mean staying up with Jack until he finishes, probably distracting him. "In that case, I'll see you tomorrow after work, and I'll bring the food then... keep me posted about the paper, text me when you finish. And make sure you eat something."

Jack turns back to look at him with a strained, stressed attempt at a smile.

"For sure. Go have a nice time with your family, and tell everyone I say hi."

-

"Aba, you're doing it wrong. You have to use your left arm."

It's getting late in the evening, dinner has been eaten, and Les is trying to coordinate the family to make a TikTok with him. It's not exactly going well.

"My left or your left?"

"It doesn't matter, we have the same left!"

Davey has thankfully been placed in the back row, both because he's tall and lanky, and because he's so uncoordinated that Mom used to make you wear one of those leash backpacks as a kid to keep you from wandering into traffic... which is true, but Davey isn't sure why Les even knows about that. He certainly wasn't around yet when that was the case, so he probably heard it from Sarah.

While Les tries once again to explain how this little dance is supposed to work, Davey's phone starts to buzz in his pocket. It's probably a spam call, but he's not particularly invested in the dance lesson so he pulls it out to check.

Incoming call: cowboy babyy 💖🤠

Davey frowns. Jack never calls him. It's always texts or voice memos, since he's got some kind of weird aversion to talking on the phone. If he's calling, it must be important.

"Hi babe," he says, pressing his phone to his ear and walking off to his old bedroom to get some quiet, while Les shouts at him in the background for not taking this seriously. "How's the homework going?"

Jack is quiet for a second too long as Davey toes the door shut.

"...Not great. I'm really frustrated." He pauses and sniffles a little, sounding almost like he's holding back tears. "I don't know why I called you while you're having a good time with your family, though. I shouldn't be bugging you."

"Hey," Davey breathes, "you're not bugging me at all, sweetheart. Is the paper not going well?"

"I just... I'm so bad at writing, and I don't know what I'm talking about, and I have no idea how I'm gonna get this done in time." His voice is shaking, and it's breaking Davey's heart a little. "I'm being dramatic, though. I just need to keep working on it."

Davey sits down on the edge of what's now a guest bed, his old outer space-themed comforter replaced with something more neutral.

"You're not dramatic, it's okay to be upset. Do you want me to come over and help?"

Jack's breath hitches softly, and it confirms that he's almost definitely crying.

"You don't have to, you're busy with your folks. I'm sorry for calling." He shudders a little as he must try to take a deep breath. "It's okay... I'm fine."

Davey sighs, almost exasperated with Jack's self-sacrificial sense of pride. He'll never ask for anything for himself, not wanting anyone to go out of their way for him, even when he seems to be having a panic attack of sorts.

"It's not okay; you're clearly not fine, Jackie," he replies. "We already ate, and I'm not busy. If you want me to come over, I'll be there... do you?"

Jack is quiet for a moment again, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"Yeah. I do."

Davey nods, though Jack can't see him.

"Okay. I want you to take a little break from writing until I get there, alright? Change into your pyjamas and have a glass of water. Try to relax a little."

"Okay... thanks Davey."

The call ends, and Davey rejoins his family while tucking his phone away in his pocket.

"I have to go." He kisses his mother on the head as he walks by. "Thanks for dinner, Ima."

"Is everything okay?" she asks, catching him gently by the elbow before he can get too far.

"Yeah..." he sighs. "Jack's just having a hard time with homework, I'm gonna go help him out."

His father ruffles his hair and gives him a quick hug.

"You're a good boy, David. Take him those leftovers— your mother's cooking can fix anything."

"For sure. I'll see you guys next weekend, and I'll try to bring Jack along then."

He waves goodbye to Sarah and Les, grabs the dish of food, and then sets off on a speed-walk to the nearest subway station.

-

Jack is sitting on the couch when he arrives, his knees pulled to his chest, looking very soft and cozy in pyjama pants and one of Davey's old hoodies from some baseball tournament. He's staring into space, and he hardly even moves to acknowledge Davey's presence when he walks in.

"Hey darling." Davey leaves the dish of food on the counter and crouches down in front of Jack to try and catch his eye-line. He carefully takes Jack's hands in his own. "Hanging in there?"

Jack finally looks at him and nods, but as he blinks, more tears slip out and roll down his cheeks.

"I'm only done two pages," he mumbles, practically whispering. "I don't know why it's so hard, but I just can't do it."

"Oh, Jackie..." Davey reaches up to wipe Jack's tears, cupping his face gently with both hands. "Hey, you still have three hours, right?" Jack nods. "That's lots of time. We're gonna figure this out... let's just sit here and calm down a little first. It's gonna be okay."

He climbs up onto the couch to pull Jack into a hug, and the moment he's settled, Jack wraps his arms around him and breaks, sobbing into his shoulder. Davey cards his fingers through his hair and rubs his back; he's never seen Jack this distraught, especially not over homework. There's a good chance the problem runs a lot deeper, and stressing over an assignment was simply the last straw.

"You're alright," Davey continues, since talking is what he does best, even in moments like this. Jack is shaking with the force of his tears, breathing so hard Davey worries he might hyperventilate. "Listen, it's just one assignment, my love... if you get a bad grade, or if we don't finish in time, we can deal with that. We'll hand in whatever we finish tonight, so at least you won't get a zero. Worst case scenario, you retake this class in the spring... even that doesn't sound so bad, does it? I know you could handle it, if that's what happens."

Jack nods a little, but his tears don't stop.

"I'm so tired of being stupid," he hiccups, after a long while. "I keep getting distracted, and I can't word things right, and I spell everything wrong, and- and maybe I should just drop out, because I'm clearly not meant to be doing this."

"Baby..." Davey sighs, giving him a gentle kiss on the temple. "You're so intelligent, Jack. You're almost done your degree— after this term, you've only got one year left, and it's not like you do poorly in your classes, is it? Even when it's something hard for you, like writing, you always do well when you put in the work. What did you get on your sociology paper a couple weeks ago?"

"Ninety percent," Jack mumbles, muffled by the way he's speaking into Davey's shoulder. "But I spent so long on it, and you edited it for me. I'm gonna fail this one. I can't do it in one night, and I can't write papers without your help."

"Well, I'm here to help now, aren't I?" He rests his hand midway through brushing it through Jack's hair and scratches his scalp gently, which makes Jack shiver and laugh quietly through his tears. "Right? And you can write, darling— all I do is fix up the spelling and grammar for you. The ideas and words are all you, just like when you give presentations and knock it out of the park every time. I sure can't do that."

Jack finally looks up at him.

"Yes you can. You get nervous beforehand, but when you do a presentation, it's always really good."

Davey smiles at him, now that they're actually looking at each other.

"It's hard for me, though. Just like writing is for you— but with lots of effort, you're really good at it. See my point?"

Slowly, a small smile spreads across Jack's teary-eyed face, and he nods. Davey feels rather accomplished with this development.

"I guess so." He wipes at his eyes and sighs. "Sorry about this. I'm such a mess."

"No apologies. I don't blame you for getting overwhelmed— you're in a tough spot here." He pulls Jack in for a quick kiss, which they both smile into. "I brought you dinner. Go heat it up when you're ready; I'll look over what you've written so far and see if I can come up with some more ideas to add on. We're gonna work together on it, okay? What painting did you choose?"

"The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew by Caravaggio," Jack sighs, looking almost forlornly at his computer on the table. "I have a lot to say about it, and lots of good stuff in my notes, but I just can't put it into paragraphs and sentences that make sense."

Davey nods, watching Jack as he stands up to go put the leftovers from Davey's family in the microwave.

"Well, I don't know anything about paintings, but if you talk me through it, I can help you put the actual paper together." He pauses as an idea dawns on him. "I'm gonna email your professor and ask about an extension— it might be a shot in the dark, but we should at least try. The worst he can do is say no."

"Sure," Jack replies from the kitchen, his voice still shaky. "He's a total hardass, though. Fingers crossed for a miracle."

Davey sits at the table, opens up Jack's email, and starts a draft.

Hi Professor Diaz,

Apologies for the short notice, but I'm wondering if it would be possible to have an extension on the analysis assignment, even if it's just by a few hours. I unfortunately mixed up some due dates in my planner, and I thought I had an extra week for this assignment; I only realized the mistake today, so I'm currently scrambling to get it done in time.

Would it be at all possible to turn it in a few hours late, just to have a bit more time to finish it up? I would really appreciate any amount of time you're willing to give me.

Thank you in advance for your understanding, Jack Kelly

He shrugs, sends it, and sincerely hopes a little professionalism and a decent (if slightly fabricated to make Jack look less forgetful) excuse will go a long way.

-

It's quarter to eleven, the paper is now five-and-a-half pages long, and Jack isn't crying anymore. He's in the zone, talking aloud about the painting while Davey helps him get his vague ideas into concrete sentences, and they're on track to have at least seven or eight pages by the time midnight rolls around— it might not get full marks, but it'll be better than nothing.

Jack's computer dings with the sound of a new email while they're taking a two-minute break— something they've interspersed every half hour, since Jack's focus is best in shorter bouts. He's in the middle of walking laps around the apartment to get his energy out and annoy his downstairs neighbours, but he scrambles back to the computer at the noise.

"We got a reply!" he shouts.

Davey is over on the couch, and he watches Jack's face closely as he opens the email. So far, so good... and then he slumps down in his chair in a show of what could either be defeat or relief. Davey can't quite tell, so he jumps up to go read it for himself.

Sure. Email it by 11:59pm tomorrow.

Sent from my iPhone

"Yes!" Davey shouts, grabbing Jack by the shoulders. "I told you it was worth a shot!"

Jack laughs, and then reaches up to pull Davey down for a kiss.

"You're the best, Jacobs. A fucking lifesaver." He rubs at his eyes, and then pushes his computer away, across the table. "I'll deal with this tomorrow. Let's just go to bed— you still have to be up early."

Right. Davey has a dreaded Saturday morning opening shift tomorrow— they open at five, and he has to be there well in advance to get set up, so he's got no chance at getting more than a few hours of sleep. He's going to be dead on his feet in the morning, probably fuck up a few coffee orders, but it'll be worth it to have helped Jack through tonight.

Poor Jack seems completely exhausted— as anyone would be after crying so hard earlier— so collapsing into bed after washing up quickly is an utter relief. Davey, despite being tall and long-limbed, greatly enjoys being the little spoon and Jack is happy to indulge him, so they curl into the familiar position.

"Thank you for everything tonight," Jack whispers, practically into Davey's ear. "I love you so much."

Davey smiles as his eyes fall shut, and he kisses Jack's knuckles softly, where his arm is wrapped around him.

"Any time, darling. I love you too."

[yanderecandystore]

Black and Red take the advantage of Buddy being gone to flirt and drop hints about wanting to have another child with the s/o. Blacks wants to have the s/o be in a relationship now while Red wants to wait a bit more. Also I hope you feel better! Self care is best care :o - Cold Anon

Wow, I loved when I received both of your requests because like- Oh shit this fits so well!

If y'all don't mind, let's make this a complete Headcanon with both of your requests!

TW/Tags: NSFW // Forced relationship // dubcon (I don't condone this actions irl, so please read this with caution if the subject triggers/harms you in anyway) // Poly/Threesome (although it's only like half mentioned because I took way too long to write this lmao) // if you're confused on what is going on, you may want to check this [🧃] // delusional thinking and manipulation // non gender specific yandere boys and female reader just cause I'm kinda want to to make this one female just because- // swearing

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Thank God the walls are soundproof [Yandere!Among Us x F!Reader - Headcanon]:

Okay but let's first have a real talk, like- Imagine your alien dog just went missing out of nowhere, and then these hoes come in and say some shit about "family" and "mating" and all that jazz-

Bitch, my dog just ran away, control your horniness-

I think that they have been up to this point pretty much saying "we dig you, like a lot!" but also making it seem like it's nothing too serious?

Since they know you're unaware of their true feelings and intentions, it felt only right to give you some time and ease you in this relationship as quickly and smoothly as possible. Some flirting and constant compliments should have done the trick, yet you weren't really understanding what they meant with it.

You thought it was weird to see two people suddenly expressing so much affection to you despite the fact they were both married to each other and that you never felt like the type of person to attract people, so seeing two people to openly flirt with you made you think they were only joking around.

It could be their little thing, right? Flirting with other people in front of one another? Yeah, that could be it-

Of course you have assumed the possibility of them being polyamorous and are trying to call you to their family and form a triad, but then again, sounds kinda hard to believe, right? Two people wanting so badly to be with you? Sounds like something straight up out of a fantasy story.

Although, you couldn't lie that you kinda wish it to be true, since they were very pleasant to be around and well… You found them attractive and pretty charming in a weird way. Their romance with one another seemed so passionate and pure that you felt a little jealous and maybe craving a little bit of their attention.

I guess you tried your best to stay oblivious to their advantages either unconsciously or just defensively, as it can be quite shocking to receive so much attention out of nowhere from those two.

They always seemed so… I don't know, in their own little world….

After Buddy had disappeared, their presence had started to seem more stronger, it was so oddly coincidental how they started to act more friendly than ever towards you after Buddy disappeared.

You shouldn't be so suspicious of them, after all, it was only common sense that people would start to be friendlier and start comforting you after a tragedy.

Yet, you still doubted them, and right now you realize exactly why. Their weird attachment to you was starting to make a lot of sense.

It was the third time you had a breakdown after Buddy disappeared, and it's been the third time that they helped you by "comforting you out", even though you don't feel necessarily more comfortable by their constant caresses and odd words- they keep going on and on about how things will get better soon, that you'll be part of bigger family that promises to cherish you and never abandon you.

And although their words were strange and oddly soothing considering that you felt lonely due to your sweet boy running away, you still felt odd about their exact words and expressions that were thrown at you, but you disguised it as "being their awkward way of showing affection". Because it's a lot easier to lie to yourself than to admit that you were surrounded by possibly dangerous people, it was easier to believe that Buddy was going to come back anytime soon than to admit that the possibility of him already being dead was possible.

But sometimes reality will pull your hazy brain to observe the intriguing situation you found yourself in, since you were still a little hazed by the constant crying and the despair you felt for your best friend, it took you some to realize them both cuddling with you and placing small kisses here and there.

Either you had ignored/blocked out the feeling of invasive touches and phrases that were so off the rails, that even if they sugar coated their speech you would still feel threatened by it, or you were simply disassociating from this particular event.

Who would've guessed that being locked in your own room all day with only two people to talk with has started to make you crave their attention? You just felt like letting them touch you and say nice things despite how it felt…. Weird.

You started to feel guilty, to feel awkward whenever they praised you and touched you a little more roughly in more private areas. You felt good yet awful, you felt like this situation was wrong but it did feel right in some weird way.

You felt ashamed of their soft voices- Or more accurately, Red's soft voice and Black's deep breaths covering your skin with each kiss. They seemed to be on their own little worlds, just like you were a couple of seconds ago.

When you tried to free yourself and get up, Red took the opportunity to make you sit in their lap facing your back to them, they shushed you as you noticed Black felt a bit sad at your sudden reaction. You weren't expecting to be stopped from getting away from their hold which made you feel wary of the situation.

You've let them pamper you for too long, you've let them touch you and crave you for way too long. Black took the fact you were stuck on their partner's lap and decided to take a bite for themselves. A deep kiss that although heavenly sweet to them, it tasted bitter and provoked you to start wriggling against Red to get away from their hold. This was starting to be suffocating.

Yet nothing, they didn't let you, they chuckled at your struggles just like a person would chuckle at an infant playing around and trying to get their attention. Red whispered sweet nothings while Black seemed to be enjoying licking your skin, from your shoulder to your neck, it felt good yet somehow a little too… Good? There was something like desperation starting to appear in Black's breathing, their licks felt sloppy and the sounds coming from deep in their chest made your mind hazy, made your body crave more of this mix of rough and soft touches coming from them both.

Yet your mind told you otherwise, your conscious kept telling you about more important things that you should be worrying about. You felt like this was not exactly what you wanted at the moment, but your body was betraying your own thoughts as you felt yourself getting just as needy as them.

You still told Red you felt like this was happening too fast for your comfort, yet they only told you to relax and enjoy the view.

The "view" was Black getting more and more agitated, they seemed high out of their mind if not completely lost in their own instinct. Drooling like an animal, breathing like they have runned up a hill, and although there was only lust and admiration in their eyes, there was something in that frantic laugh that made you feel like there was something else in their hearts.

"- Black, we talked about this… Look at her, your scaring [Y/N], babe." Red said while pushing Black to back off a little, without putting too much pressure, just telling them to get back a little.

Black didn't take it personally yet still whined like a lost puppy. Black surprisingly hasn't said much considering the situation you were all in, you would at least hope for them to say something, yet they couldn't make any comprehensive sounds except for growling and heavy breathing.

"- Can you see it, [Y/N]? It's so adorable when they get like this, it's even better if you let them get impatient, not like you'll have to wait much, they're simply too easy to please, you know?" Red giggled into your ear as Black was grinding the bed like a desperate dog in heat, which still scared you a bit-

How hungry their eyes looked made you squirm and distance yourself from them, which led to Red holding you tighter since you were getting closer to them. It felt like it was normal for them, this sort of ritual, and you just seemed to get yourself involved in, not knowing how to respond to anything.

"- Uhn- R-Red- I…. I think we should go to sleep already-" You said, it was indeed very late, and you were starting to feel like not being part of this- Something was very, very off, your gut told you that much as you started feeling pretty nauseous.

"- So soon? Are you feeling nervous darling? I did tell a certain someone that they should have been more patient, yet they said they couldn't wait any longer-" Red said, mentioning Black who was flustered and angry at how their partner seemed to act so casually about their "condition".

"- But I don't think you need to worry your little head, after it we can go to sleep together, okay?" Red answered you while nuzzling your neck, now they noticed how much they were craving this moment, yet still not as much as their shape shifting partner.

"- No! I-I mean- Shouldn't you two sleep in your own rooms- I think the others would get suspicious of three people sleeping in the same bed." You managed to stutter out, yet you felt like your words had caused more harm than it should have.

Black growled in a more animalistic manner while also hitting their hands in the bed to try to take your attention, their expression was of anger mixed with disappointment.

Red just sighed and shook their head, they put their hand in your face and guided you to look at them, their tone sounded patronizing and disappointed.

"- It's that really what you're worried about? What other people think… This has nothing to do with anyone but us, love. So please try to focus on the now instead of how they'll react. And besides, we wouldn't want to miss this opportunity, now would we?" They said while kissing you just as passionately as Black did. Yet you didn't get what Red meant with that, so you obviously asked.

To which they didn't really respond, just hugged you again after slowly pulling away and saying:

"- Normally we have to wait up to six in six months to get their next heat, but apparently it came earlier than it should have! Isn't this beautiful darling? It's like all the stars have been perfectly aligned for us to be together." Red squeaked excitedly about the pattern of luck they've been having lately! First started with your dog disappearing, then it went to you being more comfortable with them around you, to you downright accepting being part of their family!-

The truth was actually rather bitter, you didn't really agree to any of these and you seemed to have tried to get out whenever you could, but both Red and Black took your lack of response as a sign of acceptance rather than anything else. Why else would you let them cuddle you three times in a roll, if not because of love? Why would you let them kiss you, if not because of love?

"- It's going to be so much fun adding two new members to the family, don't you think love?" Red spoke once again although not really towards you, but rather to their very attentive partner that was fuming with the idea of a new kid ever since their heat began about three days ago.

Thanks whatever cosmic entity to have granted them not only the privilege of holding you for so long during this time of need you were facing, but to also have gifted them this marvelous opportunity. Their species are fertile only periodically, it's not like they can do this any time they want, so to be in heat while your stupid bodyguard is missing it's a fucking miracle.

Yet I guess it would be really rude to mention that to you in person, after all you did love that mutt with all your heart, so-

Well, it's not like Black can express how desperately they want to pounce on you, they go through a thembofication when they're needy like this, besides- What good are words if they can simply let their moans filled the room and let it clear through actions how fucking long they have been craving this.

Your dog would have smelled them a lot sooner and tried to warn you about this, he could have prevented this but it seems like he ditched you, which is so unfair, none of them would ever leave you alone, but who cares about Buddy anymore, right? They're pretty sure that after you have a baby you'll forget him, because children and dogs are literally the same thing, ask Mini Red about it-

The fear that overcomes you when seeing them take off their disguise through your very eyes it's both heartbreaking and a little exciting. It's horrible for Black to see you screaming and trying to get out of the room despite the fact the door is locked tight and the walls being soundproof, were you really that disturbing that you couldn't handle?

Or maybe you realized who has been going around, ya know, eating people? And you thought you would be one too, which seemed to be the first time both of them understood what your worries were.

"- Oh no darling, don't worry okay! Shh- Everything it's fine- Look, we know this is sudden but it only felt right to show you the truth right now. You understand that right?"

Red tried to calm you down while simultaneously putting more fear in your heart.

"- Let me go! I-I- don't want anything to do with- With that thing! Or even you for that matter!" You spat venom at them while you squirmed in the mattress as Red was holding your arms and Black was holding your legs from kicking them.

So much hatred in only one sentence, truthfully, this wasn't going to go so well.

For you, that is.

You'll see that you love them, you see that this pity party you're throwing is absolutely ridiculous, weren't you kissing and whimpering at their touch five seconds ago? Honestly dear, hypocrisy doesn't look good on you.

But maybe you just need to relax a little, and let someone take care of you. Clearly the disappearance of "Whatever his name was" took you by surprise and made a big impact in your consciousness, but after proving you how much they have to offer, surely you'll understand their point of view.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭