#been sinking too much time into tumblr and it’s ruining my brain

[dilfenthusiast]

Taking an indefinite hiatus. Goodbye cruel blogging site. Wish me luck in my endeavors to write more and care less in my offline life.

Mutuals you should have a way to reach me outside tumblr. If you don’t, and you want to, you may ask. I’m deleting the app later

[jacobtheodorescott]

Social Media

Jacob Scott 

Comm 1400 

Professor Susi 

9/4/24 

Social Media 

Hello, everyone. My name is Jacob Theodore Scott. I was born in 1998 and raised in quiet Middletown, Rhode Island. As such, I identify as Gen-Z, or Zoomer, if you will. I spend a considerable amount of my spare time online, primarily Facebook. I have been asked a difficult question: What is social media? My textbook claims it can break walls down and bring people closer together. “It is a powerhouse medium bringing communities together, breaking down barriers, raising awareness of issues around the world, and creating movements to spark impact. With the tap of a button, we can tweet, snap, and go live with our thoughts, perspectives, and stories for a global audience” (Freberg). I believe that social media can build connections and offer insight into another person’s life. Therefore, I wholeheartedly agree with that statement.  

As a social media user, I check on my closest friends and relatives. One friend travels the world with his lovely wife. The other works in a food market and swims for a hobby. As for the family, my mother recently got new dentures and post selfies to embrace them. Furthermore, my father is currently in a band and tries to reach out to me. Personally, I utilize social media to give life updates, post trips with friends, and entertain people by singing, acting, or reading poetry.  

As a 26-year-old black man, I have gained a few strengths after diving into the deep ocean of social media. Firstly, never disclose any personal information, like phone numbers or email addresses. Since social media revolves around shared data, it is too easy for scandalous people to steal from those who do not know better. Secondly, avoid toxic people. Reevaluate your list of friends and find out who genuinely cares about you. Sometimes, they do not know what you need or how you feel. Thirdly, learn to speak your mind without being disrespectful. It is important to tell the truth, but the truth be harsh and overwhelming. Nevertheless, I have my weaknesses. I joke around to nullify certain issues with myself or in the world. In essence, it is very nonchalant and inconsiderate. Another issue is that I often teeter between texting someone too much and not texting them enough. I constantly tried to contact this one girl I was crushing on. After a slew of unanswered messages, she eventually told me to stop doing that. I did not even consider that she was working. Now, I have possibly ruined things by forcing a friendship.  

I wish to gain two things from this course: self-respect and more insight on the world around me. Being pressured with work and school, I cannot find time to turn my brain off and sink into social media. I rarely post anything where I can express myself. The last time I did was last year in December. Putting my occupations aside, the reason I have gone so long without posting is lack of motivation. With more intuition, I could raise awareness for sick individuals or properly talk to someone who went through traumatic experiences. I did not think of signing onto Tumblr prior to my assignment. After this blog, I have no clue what other sites to explore. Regardless, my foray into uncharted territory will surely be an unforgettable life lesson.  

[lanternbbug]

Blogging again after 5 years-

I turned all my high school journals into ash, ripped apart all my old photographs, lost the passwords to multiple different internet archives that still preserve the lamenting teenage self in 1’s and 0’s.

So I find myself turning back to tumblr again, and for what? To write about accidentally spending $78 dollars at the organic grocery store, accidentally free bleeding in my sleep and ruining my favorite undies, accidentally letting life pass by me while I was on autopilot? All brain-rotted and frozen, all maladaptive and parasympathetic.

It’s September now, finally. I’ve been waiting for September for a long time. I want the landscape around me to die, I want the leaves to start falling and for the chilly mornings to hit hard. There are feelings that I’ve felt stirring up inside me, feeling I can only access in the cold wind and a 5pm sunset.

I’ve got bad bangs again, my face is broken out and I’m covered in hormonal acne. Like a sick, second puberty in my late twenties. I’m a few months away from 27 and I’ve never cared about again until I was so close from leaving 26. Late twenties sounds disgusting. Stuck between a young girl who who had too much taken from her and all the versions of the adult woman I’ll never get to be. I’ve put myself on the sidelines for a long time, but I hope at the very least this next wretched age will get me back in the game. I find it both sad and funny that the people who took my childhood away are the quickest to tell me to “grow up.”

My bedroom is packed into boxes right now, just 12 days away from moving for the third time. I’ve lost lots of trinkets and stuffies but I don’t really care anymore. So grown up. My partner agreed to move up north with me but everyone around us is painfully aware of how crazy it seems. All we’ve got is a beautiful 6 months, two Polaroid photos, and a handful of arguments from when I’ve acted crazy. I want him to meet the me I can become, any means necessary and that could never happen here in this suffocating southern sun.

I worry about leaving my brother. How sad and stagnant he is. I’ve gotten out before but I don’t think he believed I’d make it as long as I did before returning. When I came back I was a shell, like him, and we shared in the solidarity of sickness in this house. I wish I hadn’t lost faith in a God when I was just a little girl or I’d pray for him. I’m scared for him. I try to use my leaving to set an example for him, to show him the benefit of getting out but it’s not like he doesn’t already know. He’s frozen in time in this place, sinking deeper into it every day. I tried to get it through to him that nobody ever comes for us, how we need to save ourselves. That boy needs a lifeline and it’s not me, despite how I try.

I can’t eat bagels anymore. They make me sick. I’m not sure if I’ve suddenly somehow developed a gluten intolerance or if it’s the years of assigning moral values to foods. I’d like to be 10 lbs lighter still. Even after five years nothing has changed, I’m always looking to shrink myself.

[fanficimagery]

Friends in High Places

Summary: When Spencer comes home with files to a case that has his team stumped, he's surprised when you- his neighbor for a couple years now- is the person who gives them a new lead to follow. That and that you're ex-SHIELD.

Words: 8K Warnings: This is what I get for starting a rewatch of Criminal Minds and then watching Marvel movies all in one day. Fml. I've never written for Criminal Minds, so please excuse the mediocre-ness of their characterization. I have no idea what I'm doing; I just knew I wanted a crossover between these two fandoms. Also timeline? What are those? All you gotta know is that this is an AU where Bucky's joined the team and Steve DIDN'T ruin the life Peggy Carter would have had. As for the CM side, this is sometime after Hotch has left and Emily took over. Idk.

Having the night off and wanting nothing more than to just be lazy, you're sitting on your couch in your most comfiest clothes and mindlessly scrolling through Tumblr as your TV plays some program on Animal Planet. You're not even paying attention to the program, but the low sound is perfect for background noise.

You're queuing up some art posts that catch your attention, as well as some gif sets of the TV shows you've become a constant viewer of in the past few years, when there's a knock at your door. But not just any knock. It's a specific knock that you and your neighbor came up with after you got to know each other and became fast friends, and it was to let the other know they were home and wanted company. You mostly worked nights and his work schedule was always all over the place, so it's surprising you're both home at the same time.

Picking up your phone, you shoot him a quick text that you'll be over in five.

Spencer Reid is literally the man of every woman's dream, even if they didn't know it. He's cute and adorable and sometimes dangerously hot all rolled into one, and the best thing about it all is that he doesn't even know it. You had met him on one of your first few days in the apartment complex, but unfortunately it was during one of your slight panic attacks when a thunderstorm had caught you off guard while you were sitting in your car and you didn't have an umbrella.

He had seen and heard you freaking out as he was passing by, and knocked on the passenger window. You had collected yourself just long enough to roll the window down a few inches when he asked if you were okay, then proceeded to answer his own question by stating you obviously weren't. When he realized you lived in the same complex and asked if he could climb inside your car and out of the storm, you had stared at him in confusion until he realized that might have been a bit weird since you were strangers. He stammered his way through his explanation of being an FBI agent and after showing you his badge you had let him in.

You didn't have to tell him what was making you panic and he proceeded to keep your mind occupied. He asked about you and where you had moved in from, and spewed random facts about anything to temporarily make you forget about the storm raging outside. But the torrential rain wasn't letting up and the lightning was only getting closer and closer. He made you realize you had to make a run for it and even offered up his umbrella for you. You had thanked him with tears in your eyes and made a run for it on the count of three when you were settled just enough.

Inside the lobby of your apartment building, you had stood there trembling while Spencer nervously gripped onto the strap of his messenger bag as he stood across from you. When you were shaking the water off his umbrella, you hesitantly told him your reasoning for your freak-out. It wasn't necessarily the thunderstorm, but rather the torrential rain that wasn't letting up. A few years back you had a drowning incident and too much water on your face tended to bring back those memories. He said he understood and then with a sympathy tinged smile he offered to walk you to your apartment. It was a pleasant surprise to learn you had only lived two doors down from him.

Weeks turned into months and months into a couple of years, and you and Spencer were nearly inseparable when you both had the same day/night off.

So after quickly fixing your already messy hair so you don't look like a complete slob, and pulling on a loose hoodie, you grab your phone from the sofa and then head on out. Your socked feet keep your footsteps quiet as you head down to Spencer's door where you knock three times on it before opening it up and stepping inside.

But before you can greet him with a cheesy welcome, he's already calling out, "Hope you haven't had dinner. I picked up some burgers on the way home."

On cue, your stomach grumbles. "God bless you, you beautiful, beautiful man!" You hear him laugh from a room that's not where his kitchen is, so you make a beeline for the kitchen instead of accidentally walking in on him changing. There are two paper bags on the table and you quickly grab plates from his cabinet to separate the food on. Spencer enters the kitchen in a shirt and some gray joggers, and you greet him with a beaming smile. "You're home and in one piece! Yay!" He laughs and you quickly lean in to peck his cheek, not saying a word when you catch sight of his pink tinged cheeks. "You have any beer?"

"Yes. Grab two, please."

"Got it." You hear one of his kitchen chairs creak as you open his refrigerator to grab two beers, you then searching a nearby drawer for the bottle opener. Once you find it, you walk back over to the table and open each beer before handing one over to him.

"Thanks."

"Mhm." Taking a seat, you set your beer down before unwrapping your burger and dumping your fries out onto the plate. "So what's up, doc? You're home surprisingly early."

"We've hit a wall on our latest case," he says, keeping it vague. "There was nothing for us to do while Garcia did her thing, so Emily sent us home for a bit."

"Nice." You take a bite of your burger and your eyes widen when Spencer's eyebrows raise in surprise. When you realize how your words sounded, you're quick to backtrack. "Wait! It's not nice that you hit a wall, but nice that you got sent home! I got free food out of it. That's why it's nice. Not because, you know, you haven't found the-"

"Y/N, you're rambling," Spencer says, lips twitching. "I understood what you meant."

You sigh, shoulders dropping, and grab half a fry to toss at him. "Eat your food, Reid. It's getting cold."

It surprisingly doesn't take long for the two of you to eat your dinner, you both being hungrier than you first thought. After you're done, Spencer turns down a second beer but tells you to help yourself. You do. And on the way into his living room, you bump into one of his chairs and knock his bag over. You gasp and set your beer down on the coffee table, falling to your knees to scoop up his files that had spilled out.

Chuckling, Spencer crouches next to you as you profusely apologize.

"It's okay. It was an accident." A few pictures had slid out of their files and normally you'd just shove them back in because his work wasn't any of your business, but the face staring back up at you makes you pause. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a little heavy on the eyeliner, and a lip piercing. You know her. "Y/N?" You gulp and flip to another picture- brown hair, brown eyes, mole above the right eyebrow. You know her too. "Y/N? Are you okay?"

With trembling hands, you flip back to the first picture and show it to him. "Is Lilian dead?"

Spencer's eyes widen. "You knew her?"

Knew. Past tense. She is dead. Showing him the second picture, you nod sadly. "Kyndall too."

He seems to stop breathing then and from one moment to the next he's opening files and pulling out picture after picture. As you stare at each of them, you grimace and swallow down the bile that's threatening to climb its way up your throat. "Y/N, do you know any of the others?"

Shakily exhaling, you point at each picture. "Desiree, Celeste, Maria. I don't know this one, but I think her last name was Valdez? And then the male is Tim."

Spencer falls on his butt, staring at you in surprise. "That's right. We know their names and their current line of work, but that's about it. Their files only seem to go back a few years. Everything between the end of their high school career and current line of work seems to be scrubbed clean. Do you- do you know of any connection between these people? Any little thing you know can possibly be a big help to my team."

Your gaze darts up to him and your heart sinks. You've managed to keep your past mostly hidden, but now it seems the time has come to tell him what you did before. "They, uh, they're all ex-agents of SHIELD. The real SHIELD, not HYDRA."

"What?"

"If I remember correctly, they were computer analysts or paper pushers. They had gun training as one would think an agent would have, but they were agents who didn't really have to train in hand-to-hand since they never made it out into the field."

"You're positive? How do you know this?"

You gulp. "Because I'm ex-SHIELD too."

Spencer blinks at you, but then in the next moment he's up on his feet and reaching for his phone. He places a quick phone call, stepping into another room and leaving you alone. Your stomach sinks and you have a feeling that this confession might have just put a wedge in your friendship. After all, though ex-agents were being picked up by other different branches of the government, you weren't sure just how exactly trustworthy all ex-agents were being treated.

Spencer reappears, nervously tucking his hair behind his ear. "Do you mind coming with me back to work? My co-workers could really pick your brain about this."

You blink at him. "W-What? You're not mad at me?"

"Mad?" He chuckles. "Why would I be mad? I mean I wish I had known what you did so I didn't have to worry about you being alone when I left for a case, but I can see why you would keep that underwraps. HYDRA made a lot of people paranoid."

"Tell me about it," you mumble. Then after a few seconds, you finally climb up to your own two feet. "Um, just let me go put on some shoes. I'll meet you in the hall."

Spencer's smile and nod eases some of your worries, but you still quickly make an escape to go put on some shoes. Your front door bangs open and you hurry to your hall closet. Yanking open that door, you pull on the first pair of Converse you come across. Then taking a moment to think, you grab a pair of knee high boots that you use every once in a while. Reaching inside, you grab your old badge and a USB stick, sticking your badge in your back pocket and the USB in your front pocket. Then grabbing your keys from the hook by the front door, you shut the door after exiting and lock it. Spencer is waiting down the hall for you and you jog towards him. He tightly smiles and then leads you downstairs, towards his car, and you sit quietly in his passenger seat while he drives.

On the way towards Spencer's place of work, he can't help but ask, "So what exactly did you do with SHIELD if you don't mind me asking."

You shrug. "Cat's out of the bag now, so I don't mind." You chuckle though it kind of falls flat. "I was, uh, a computer analyst for a while. But then I was taken on a field trip with a few agents and we ended up trading bullets with several not so nice guys. The field agents liked the way I handled myself and requested I level up, so to speak."

"And you never thought of trying to get hired on with anyone else? If I recall, the FBI and CIA were picking up ex-SHIELD agents after the fall."

You shake your head. "Remember that drowning incident I mentioned? Or the reason why I can't take baths anymore and have to turn my shower on and off between washing?" Spencer hums, remembering what he thought were odd quirks until he realized it was all because of your fear of certain amounts of water. "That drowning incident was HYDRA's fault. I spent months in rehab and just- well, no one wanted a damaged agent."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm kind of glad they didn't. I quite like my neighbor who picks up take-out and bakes sweets for me after a rough case."

You try not to think too much about his words and instead choose to smile at him before looking out your window. The drive is only about twenty minutes and fortunately the radio fills in the semi-tense silence.

When you get to the FBI building, Spencer escorts you inside with a hand at the small of your back. You're given a visitor's badge and you quickly clip it onto the hem of your hoodie. The elevator ride up to the BAU's main floor is a short one and it opens up to a wall of glass where you can see several desks behind it.

Spencer opens the door for you and you can't help but make yourself seem as small as possible. You cross your arms over your chest, hugging yourself as you enter the room. There are several people milling about, but no one pays you any attention. Only one female, dark bangs covering her forehead while the rest of her hair falls just passed her shoulders, heads towards you once she spots you and Spencer.

"Y/N," Spencer says, introducing you to the woman as she nears, "this is our Unit Chief Emily Prentiss. Emily, this is my good friend Y/N Y/L/N."

Emily is all smiles as she reaches to shake your hand. "Hi! It's nice to finally meet the girl who takes care of our boy wonder after cases."

Spencer nervously chuckles and you find yourself genuinely grinning. "It's nice to finally meet you too. I've heard some funny stories about all you guys."

"I will neither confirm nor deny any of those."

Emily then leads you towards a room where three others are waiting. "Guys, this is Y/N Y/L/N. Friend of Spence and ex-agent of SHIELD. Y/N, this is Special Agent Derek Morgan and Jennifer Jareau, and our very own technical analyst Penelope Garcia."

Everyone happily greets you and Jennifer even gives you the go ahead to call her JJ. You're offered a seat at their round table and you glance at their board filled with pictures of people you used to work with. Spencer sits next to you and you offer him a feeble smile when he reaches beneath the table to squeeze your knee.

"Alright, guys, I know we're all interested in the girl who lives next to Spence, but we need to get down to business." Spencer groans as his teammates all chuckle. "So Y/N, is there anything else you can give us about the victims? What exactly did they do? Did they all personally know each other or just enough because they were coworkers? Even the smallest bit of info that you think is inconsequential can help us."

"I, uh, I can do you one better," you say. You shift in your seat and reach into your front pocket, pulling out the USB stick. "Since I figure all those NDA's we signed are now null and void thanks to Agent Romanoff's data dump, and because you're Spencer's friend, I feel comfortable handing this over. It kind of made me nervous keeping it in my house anyway."

You slide the USB towards Penelope and she gasps, snatching it up and holding it as if it were the holy grail. "Is this- are these files? Because let me tell you, I tried to download those files as soon as they hit the net but there were just so many and not even our WiFi could download it fast enough before they were scrubbed clean."

You grin and nod, chuckling at Penelope's squeal. "I started collecting everyone's files that I could get my hands on. I started with the baby agents- agents whose files wouldn't toss up red flags when their files were opened. The more clearance I was granted, the more files I was able to download."

"Oh my god. Yes! You are my new favorite person." Penelope rushes around the table, bending down to kiss your cheek with a loud mwah! "Reid, keep this one. I'll be in my lair."

The group all chuckle as you blush, but then Agent Morgan is clearing his throat. "Not that I'm not grateful about what you're giving up, but isn't what you were doing illegal?"

You shrug. "It possibly was, but then Director Fury realized I was memorizing it all and didn't have a problem with it so long as those files didn't leave my office."

"But you have them on you now," Morgan says.

"Yeah. The USB was hidden within my belongings in my office. My office surprisingly survived unscathed after Captain Rogers crashed the helicarriers into the Potomac, and my stuff was packed up and shipped to me while I was in rehab."

"If you don't mind me asking," JJ wonders, "but were you at the Triskelion when HYDRA came out or..?"

"I don't mind the questions at all," you say. "It's actually quite nice to talk about it with people who aren't eyeing me suspiciously." The group flashes you small smiles. "I was actually on a consulting job with a recently formed SHIELD team whose base was a humongous plane that was constantly on the move. Anyway, one of those trusted team members ended up being HYDRA. He led a group of his men onto the plane, killed half of us to get control of it, and then locked me and two scientists into a holding pod before dropping us into the middle of the ocean."

"The drowning incident," Spencer suddenly realizes.

You smile sadly at him, nodding. "We sank to the bottom of the ocean floor. There were three of us and only one little oxygen tank." Spencer grabs your hand beneath the table and you're grateful for the grounding pressure. "We gave it to Jemma. Fitz and I were going to attempt to swim, but we didn't make it. Fitz blacked out first, then me, and then- then nothing. We woke up in a trusted SHIELD facility, and Fitz and I couldn't operate like we used to. With our brains having been deprived of oxygen, it messed us up for a while."

"Wow," Emily says. "I am so sorry."

You shrug at her with a small smile. "It was all part of the job."

"What do you do now?" Morgan asks. "I hate to say it, but with all our victims being ex-SHIELD, and you as well, we have to rule you out as-"

"I get it." You smile in reassurance at him since it kind of pained him to admit that you could be a suspect and have Spencer glare at him for even thinking it. "I'm a bouncer at a bar most nights."

Morgan chuckles. "A bouncer? You!?"

"Hey! I might not look like much, but I did train with Avengers. I could probably give you a run for your money, agent Morgan."

"Okay, okay," he muses.

"I also work as private security for Stark Industries when they throw galas. If you need the exact dates I've been working, I can get that for you."

"Please," JJ says. "Spencer's already vouched for you, but protocol and all that. You understand."

"I do. I'll just- I'll text my bosses to email my clock-ins and clock-outs."

Pulling out your phone, you immediately text your boss at the bar and Pepper Potts. You keep the explanation vague as to why you need it, but assure them it's very much needed for a case the FBI is working on. They completely understand and you even have to make Pepper swear not to get Tony involved.

The emails come in not even ten minutes later and JJ happily takes your phone to run the dates with Penelope, promising to be quick about it. You remain in your seat, watching as Morgan and Emily walk towards the board and start tossing their thoughts back and forth over what they've learned so far.

Your hands are atop the table, thumbs chipping away the already chipped nail polish you have on. The second you raise your hand with the intent of chewing on your thumb nail, Spencer catches your hand. "You okay?" He quietly asks and you stare at him. He then lets your hand go as you pull them back into your lap.

"Yeah. Just getting kind of tired. And a bit anxious. Someone's targeting ex-SHIELD agents and I- well I'm one of those people."

"No one is going to hurt you, Y/N. I promise."

You feebly smile, not taking his words to heart because you know he can't actually keep that promise. He might want to, but you know better than to take these types of promises seriously in situations such as this.

JJ reappears, a bright smile in place as she hands you your phone. "I'm pretty sure Penelope programmed her number in there."

"That's fine." You chuckle. You lay your phone on the table, giving your attention back to Emily and Morgan who's now being joined by JJ.

"Guys, Garcia is having a ball right now. There's so much information she wasn't privy to before, but I'm not sure how any of it is going to help more than Y/N already has." Emily and Morgan look at JJ, waiting for her to explain. "We already know victims weren't the best at hand-to-hand, which the unsub clearly took advantage of. But we need to know what they were presently doing and if they were checking in with anyone because there are a lot of dead ex-agents. That's not a coincidence. Either someone who's ex-SHIELD or HYDRA is picking off ex-agents one by one, or someone who has a grudge against SHIELD found a list of ex-agents and is working their way down the list."

"Where do we even start?" Morgan asks, incredulous. "SHIELD technically doesn't exist anymore and those who are operating in the shadows are nearly impossible to track down thanks to the Avengers. None of them are exactly easy to get a hold of after General Ross made it his personal mission to bring in James Buchanan Barnes for crimes HYDRA made him commit. They like working on their own."

"We'd have to jump through a bunch of hoops just to get a face to face," Emily says, sighing. "If we're lucky they'll want in on the case since it's related to SHIELD."

"Um, actually.." You nervously raise your hand, calling all attention on you. "You can bypass all those hoops."

Emily stares at you, sitting on the edge of the table as she crosses her arms over her chest. "You still have connections, don't you?" At your sheepish grin, she huffs in amusement. Every other team member straightens with hope in their expressions.

"Agent Prentiss, I am the connection." As you pick up your phone once more, JJ and Morgan step closer to the table. You scroll through your contacts, finding the one you need and tapping on it. Then putting it on speaker, you try to soothe your nerves as the ringing through the speaker seems to make the atmosphere of the room become tense.

The ringing stops as the connection is made and then, "Well, well, well. If it isn't my second favorite human on God's green Earth." You roll your eyes at the charm oozing from him. "What kind of trouble are you in now, doll?"

Emily and JJ's eyes widen, and you shake your head in amusement. "Put your boyfriend on the line, Barnes. I'm calling in a favor."

"Are you calling to finally take us up on that offer of joining us for a night?"

Everyone in the room seems to freeze, although Morgan is highly enjoying where this seems to be going. You close your eyes, scrunching up your nose. You can't believe they just heard that. "Steve really needs to put a muzzle on you."

"Well if you're into that-"

"Bucky!" You bark. "You're on speaker." Morgan finally loses the battle with his laughter and you wish you can sink into your chair. Instead you have to settle for just insanely blushing and covering your face with one hand. "I'm currently with the BAU of the FBI. They have a case that they could use some help on."

"Oh." There's a beat of silence. "Christ, Y/N. You should have stopped me sooner. Stevie's gonna lecture me again. Hold on. I'll go get him."

The line goes silent and you nervously meet Spencer's gaze. He's the only one who doesn't seem as amused which is why you don't find Bucky's greeting as funny as you normally would. Something about his expression actually makes you wish Bucky hadn't said anything.

"Y/N?"

You sit a little straighter in your seat. "Hey, Cap."

"What's going on? Buck mentioned the FBI."

"Uh yeah. I'm with Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, and Doctor Reid," you tell him. "They've been dealing with a case that had gone cold and well I kind of made a connection they hadn't seen before because they couldn't, and uh I'm sure they could use your help."

"What was the connection?"

You look at Emily and she nods, letting you tell him. "Steve, all the victims are ex-SHIELD. Specifically agents who wouldn't have had too much training; who couldn't hold their own without a gun in hand."

There's a sharp inhale. "What do they need?"

Emily's eyes close in relief and she holds her hand out for your phone. You happily oblige her and hand it over. "Captain Rogers, this is Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I'm the one in charge of my team here."

"Hello, Agent Prentiss. How can my team and I be of help?"

"Well we mainly need to pick your brains and ask some questions. We're aware that SHIELD is still operating to an extent, even if it is in the shadows, so we'd like to know if the victims were still affiliated with you. If we're dealing with someone who is or was from SHIELD or HYDRA, we'd like to have you involved since you have more experience with how they operate."

"That's fine. I'll gather my team and set up a room. Are you okay to set up base here in the Compound?"

"Yes!" JJ says, starting everyone. She clears her throat and calms herself. "Yes."

Steve chuckles. "Very well. Gather everything you need. I'll be sending a quinjet for you all since it'll be faster. Y/N knows the pick-up location."

"Thank you so much, Captain Rogers."

Emily hands you the phone and seeing that the call is still connected, you say, "Hey, Steve? Thanks for this."

"It's not a problem, sweetheart. Are you okay though? You're an ex-shield agent yourself."

"I know, but nothing has been out of the ordinary. I'm okay."

"Good. You coming too?"

"I was actually planning on going home after driving the agents to the location. I'm not an active agent anymore, bub."

"I know you're not, but with that agent neighbor of yours coming here I rather have you here as well so we can keep an eye on you." You sigh at his protectiveness. "Bring a change of clothes for a week. I'll have Nat get a hold of your boss and let him know some of what's going on so you'll have a job to go back to once all of this is over."

"You're a pain in the ass, Rogers."

Steve laughs. "See you soon, Y/L/N."

The call ends and you set your phone down. Glancing up, you smile sheepishly at the team staring at you. "So, uh, I guess I'm tagging along. Sorry about that."

Emily opens her mouth, her words getting stuck as she shakes her head in amusement. "Don't be. You got us working with the Avengers within minutes as opposed to taking hours, possibly even a day if I had to put in a request."

Morgan whistles appreciatively. "This is insane. I'm gonna give Garcia a heads up about our field trip. Expect another tag a long. I don't think she'll pass up this opportunity."

You chuckle as JJ says, "Rossi is going to be so pissed he took a vacation and missed out on working with the Avengers." Then looking at you, she adds, "Do you think Spider-Man will be there? My son absolutely loves him and I would be the coolest mom ever if I got a picture or video with him."

"I'm sure Pe- uh, I'm sure Spider-Man will make an appearance," you say. "He's always hanging around after his classes are done for the day."

JJ's eyes widen. "You totally know who he is."

"I do. And let me tell you, he absolutely adores kids. Ask and he'll happily oblige."

"Guys. Guys!" Emily says. "Case first, fangirl later."

Spencer snorts and you elbow him on reflex. He grumbles, Emily and JJ grin, and you innocently smile at Emily. "Sorry, Agent Prentiss. I'll just- I'll go sit on that couch over there so I'm not in the way."

Emily starts telling her team what needs to be done, repeating herself again when Morgan returns with a clearly excited Garcia. Morgan informs everyone he'll go gather the boxes of files while Spencer immediately sets out to disassemble the board of pictures and post-its. Garcia excitedly rushes back to her own office to pack up a few things, while Emily and JJ figure out what all they'll need to be taking with them.

To keep yourself occupied, you waste a few minutes by playing a game on your phone.

You're not sure how much time has passed, but someone hesitantly sitting next to you takes your attention off your phone. Glancing up, you see Spencer sitting there and realize everyone else has cleared out of the room. "We should be ready to head out in about ten minutes."

"Oh. Okay."

There's a moment of silence and then, "Soo.. Bucky Barnes." He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, and you can tell his amusement isn't exactly genuine. "He's- he's not the type of person I pictured you with if I'm being honest."

"Barnes?" You snort. "Ew. No." Spencer seems surprised by your reply. "Bucky likes to flirt with me because he knows it won't go anywhere. He's well aware of the actual person I have a crush on and he respects that. Mostly."

"O-Oh? So there is someone in the picture then?"

"Well, not really," you say. Squirming in your seat, you're not totally comfortable with the direction this talk has taken until you see you're not the only one squirming. Spencer is avoiding eye contact, but he's also clearly awaiting your answer. There's also a telltale flush up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears, and- oh. Oh. Seeing how nervous Spencer suddenly is makes you feel better. So better, in fact, that you feel you should speak up about something that you've kept secret for a while. "Well I mean I'd like there to be," you say, grinning when he freezes. "The thing is, he actually lives down the hall from me." Cue him holding his breath. "He's totally adorable, but also secretly hot which is so unfair, and he works for the FBI." Spencer's head snaps in your direction, eyes wide. You smile sheepishly and shrug. "The only downfall is that he's way too good for someone like me, so I settled for friendship."

Your heart is beating terribly fast and the only thing keeping you glued to your seat is Spencer grinning bashfully, cheeks pink. "If you ask me, I don't think he's too good at all. I-If anything, he probably thinks you were too good for him which is why he never made his own feelings known."

Relief washes over you and you laugh. "We're idiots, huh?"

Lips pressed together, he smiles wide. Then, "A little."

"Rain check on this discussion? We've got Avengers to greet and you have a case to solve."

"Of course!" Spencer hastily stands, offering you a hand up. Grinning, you take it and let him pull you to your feet while shoving your phone into your back pocket. "Wherever we're going, is it okay to leave our vehicles there?"

"Yeah. It's private property and pretty secluded. No one gets in without codes."

"Okay then. We'll swing by our building for your bag and then you can direct one of the drivers while the other follows."

"Sure. Sounds like a plan."

Because of the connection between the list of victims, you have an escort up to your apartment while you pack a bag. Emily and JJ happily accompany you, leaving Spencer to fend for himself with Morgan and Garcia.

In your apartment, the two female agents waste no time in subtly trying to figure out your exact feelings for their dear friend and you take great amusement in skirting around the answer they so desperately try to pry out of you. And it's only after your duffel is packed do you tell them you and Spencer had admitted some things to each other, but you are planning to talk about it further after their case is closed. JJ seems oddly giddy and Emily coos about their boy genius growing up. You blush, relieved that they've taken a to liking to you. Then when you get back to the vehicles, you know Spencer has been questioned as well given the smirks being sent your way.

The drive to the field isn't long and the team is impressed by the level of security for a seemingly abandoned airfield. There's an unmanned gate which you get off at to speak for voice recognition, punch in a specific code, give a hand print, and then secretly have your forefinger pricked for a blood sample. Then when the gate swings open, you quickly climb back into the car and instruct Emily towards the second gate where a guard sits. The guard greets you warmly and, after you introduce those in the vehicle with you, he assures you he knows all about the impending pick-up.

"So what exactly are we in for?" Morgan asks. You're all waiting in an opened hangar, the boxes they'd packed sitting on the ground.

"Your perceptions about them are about to be changed," you admit. "I'm sure you've all told yourselves that the Avengers are just like you and I, but you have no idea how true that it is until you meet them."

"Who is the nicest?" JJ wonders.

You take a moment to think about. "Honestly? They're all nice, but if I had to choose I'd choose Spider-Man. It's hard not to like him. The kid's a puppy."

"Who gives the best hugs?" Garcia quickly adds.

Everyone chuckles at her eagerness. "That's a tough one," you say. You ponder on it for a moment. "I say it's a tie between Steve and Thor. They hug full on, chest to chest. None of that half-assed, one arm hug nonsense."

Garcia practically swoons. "Oh to be wrapped up in those beefy Asgardian arms." You snort and shake your head in amusement.

Another twenty minutes pass and you regale Spencer and his friends about some of your work with SHIELD. But all too soon the telltale sound of a quinjet reaches your ears and when you look up you see one incoming.

"Well that was hella fast," Garcia muses when she spots the quinjet herself.

JJ grins. "Stark technology. Gotta love it."

Emily nods in agreement. "We definitely need an upgrade."

Whoever is flying the quinjet lands it with ease, and Spencer, Morgan, and JJ immediately pick up their boxes. Shouldering the strap of your duffel bag, you start heading towards the quinjet when the ramp is being lowered and the team follows a few steps behind.

Clint Barton walks off the ramp and you chuckle, hurrying your steps. Both your arms go around his neck and one of his arms wraps low around your waist. "Short stack," he says. "What trouble did you get into now?"

"Why does everyone assume I'm in trouble?" You pout as you pull back, pinching his cheek and cooing before stepping back out of range. "And what are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be on the farm with those precious little heathens?"

"I was, but Laura had leftovers for Nat and Wanda. I was just dropping them off when Steve rounded up the team."

"Oh nice." Then turning around, you gesture to the BAU team. "Clint, meet Special Agents Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Doctor Spencer Reid, and the brains of the beauty of the team Miss Penelope Garcia. Guys, meet Clint Barton formerly known as Hawkeye."

Everyone shakes hands, with the exception of Garcia who slaps his hand away and pulls him into a hug.

"Baby girl," Morgan laughs, "what are you doing?"

She squeezes a chuckling Clint before letting go, she then whirling on her own friend. "This is my first time meeting the Avengers. Do not take this from me!" Morgan's eyebrows raise in amusement, the whole team and Clint chuckling.

Then not wasting anymore time, Clint ushers everyone on board. He shows them where the boxes and your bag can be stowed before taking the pilot's seat up front, only to be joined by Morgan moments later in the co-pilot seat. You show Emily and Garcia how to buckle in, and then take your own seat between JJ and Spencer.

Clint counts down for lift off and you grip your harness as you feel the quinjet take flight. Spencer nudges you with his elbow and you glance at him, grinning to assure him you're okay. But when you can feel the quinjet picking up speed thanks to the feeling in your gut, you close your eyes and are thankful that no one brings up the fact that you're actually really nervous right now.

Your left hand is grabbed and gently pried from your grip on the harness, and your eyes fly open in surprise. You look towards your left and JJ smiles at you reassuringly as she squeezes your hand in comfort. Then when your right hand is grabbed and given the same treatment, you glance over at Spencer and can't help but blurt, "I-I've never been nervous about flying before."

"It's perfectly normal to subconsciously be nervous or anxious after we trudged up your past earlier," he says. "Just close your eyes and relax. We won't let anything happen to you."

You nod, smiling shakily and turn your head to rest it against the headrest of your seat. Then closing your eyes, you're grateful for the team not asking you anything for the duration of the ride. Instead, they save their questions for Clint who's all too happy to answer what he can.

You know the Compound's come into view when Morgan whistles in appreciation. Clint lands to quinjet with ease and then everyone's unbuckling themselves when he gives the go ahead. Before you can grab your bag, however, Spencer is grabbing it and beaming at you when you sigh with mock annoyance.

One by one the BAU team disembarks after Clint, leaving you and Spencer to bring up the rear. You hear Clint introducing everyone and notice everyone's congregated around in a circle. Then just as you and Spencer join, you notice that Garcia is petting Bucky's vibranium arm. You snort, catching an amused Steve's attention.

"Y/N," he greets.

"Steve." You step forward, briefly hugging him and then Bucky. As you step back in line, you gesture towards Spencer to introduce him. "This is Doctor Spencer Reid. Spence, this is Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes."

Steve leans in for a handshake, but then pauses mid-shake. "Wait. Spencer Reid? The Spencer Reid?" He grins. "Are you- are you and the agent neighbor one in the same?"

You sharply inhale, eyes widening when everyone turns to stare at your rapidly blushing face. Steve's grin turns rather teasing and your eyes narrow at him. "Two words; octopus dick." Steve's amusement vanishes, and everyone turns towards a now blushing Steve as Bucky guffaws. You turn your gaze on him next. "I don't know why you're laughing, dolphin boy."

Bucky immediately shuts up and Steve shakily grins before addressing the team. "Okay! Now that we've all been introduced, lets get inside before Y/N starts a war she can't finish."

Morgan and JJ are the only two to follow after Steve, Bucky, and Clint. Emily and Garcia remain with you and Spencer, and both females look to you with pleading eyes.

"Please tell me how four innocuous words got two supersoldiers to blush like that?" Garcia asks, Emily nodding along with her. "I need to know!"

"Sorry, girls," you tell them. "Those stories get out and I'm dead meat."

The both of them grumble about not getting answers, but move on without fuss. Before you can follow, however, Spencer steps closer to you. "You won't even tell me?" He asks, voice quiet.

You huff. "You already know."

Spencer's answering smile is enough to make you roll your eyes and he's quick to keep pace with you as you enter the building. There are numerous people milling about, but since it's late most of the trainees are in bed. Every piece of furniture and fixture still seems brand spanking new, so you don't blame the BAU team looking around in awe.

Heading into the chosen office, you lead Spencer inside before catching Steve's attention. "I'm gonna let you guys get to work. I'll be setting up in my room if anyone needs me."

No one objects, so after taking your bag from Spencer you take your leave. You leisurely make your way towards the living quarters of the compound and find your room with ease. Opening the door, the familiarity of it brings a tired smile to your face. The lamps have been turned on, awaiting your arrival, and even the TV has been turned on with its volume on low. The walls and bedding is the same as everyone else has, but you know it's your room because of the personal pictures on the dresser and bedside tables.

Since you're going to be staying until the case is over and then probably a couple days more after, you decide to put your clothes in the dresser rather than leave it in your bag for the entire time. After that's done and you've switched your TV to a movie you like, you pick out a standard set of black sleep pants and a blue/gray shirt that every trainee at the compound wears to bed so you can shower before crawling into bed yourself.

You're grateful for the private bathroom and even more grateful to see the products you use already waiting for you. You turn on the water to the shower, grab a towel from the bathroom closet and set it on the counter along with your change of clothes before you start to strip.

You keep your hair in a topknot as you shower since you had washed it earlier that morning, so your shower is over within ten minutes. Then by the time you're dried off and dressed in fresh clothes, and your teeth are brushed, you exit the bathroom.

Stepping into your room, you startle at the sight of Spencer sitting on the small cushioned bench at the foot of your bed. He's staring up at the moving playing, the corner of his lips quirked up in amusement. But at your small gasp, he looks towards you, lips spreading into a fond smile.

"Captain Rogers said it was okay that I wait for you. I don't mean to intrude."

"Spence," you huff a laugh and then continue on towards your bed, "we have keys to each other's apartments and sometimes barge in without warning. I think you waiting in here is more than okay."

"Just needed to make sure," he says, "what with this being a new place and all."

"Mhmm." You sit on the edge of the bed that's right behind the bench, putting your feet on the cushion beside Spencer and practically hug your knees as you stare at him. "How did everyone settle in?"

"E-Everyone's good." Spencer turns sideways, grinning up at you. "We got our own rooms here so we don't have to be back and forth from a hotel. When we left, Garcia was being introduced to the holographic tables and now I don't think she's going to sleep tonight."

You chuckle. "I knew she'd fall prey to all the pretty tech here." He chuckles along with you. "And how did everyone take the news to hearing the details about the case?"

"They're taking it very personally," Spencer tells you. "Mr. Barton even asked to stay on as a consultant. He and agent Romanoff are not very happy."

"Well they might not be as smart as you, Doc, but I think they're going to be a big help. You guys will be out of here in no time with the bad guy in cuffs."

"Is that so?" He muses. You grin and nod. "And if we're out of here in no time, are we still waiting until you go home for that discussion we still need to have?"

"We can table the discussion," you say, "but I really need to do this before I chicken out."

"Do what?"

Without thinking too much more about it, you reach out to cradle Spencer's jaw in the palms of your hands. You bring his face closer to yours, pausing with barely an inch between your lips. It seems he's held his breath in surprise, but when he notices you're waiting for some sort of unspoken permission it's him who closes the gap.

There's nothing heated or rushed about the kiss- it merely being a chaste kiss of several little pecks before he catches your bottom lip between his teeth. You smile, your lip popping free from where it stretches, and you giggle as he leans up to chase your lips.

"Ahem." The interruption causes you to jerk back from Spencer, eyes wide when you catch sight of Bucky leaning against your door jamb and looking quite smug. "Hope I'm not interrupting." You groan, laying your forehead on Spencer's shoulder while he quietly snorts. "So with this new development, does this mean our threesome will now be a foursome?"

You can't help but laugh and sit straight once more so you can see your friend. Unfortunately, the question actually gives you pause and there's a split second where you actually give it thought. But in the next moment your nose wrinkles and you shake your head. "What? No!"

He points at you, eyes gleaming. "You paused! You paused which means that no just turned into a maybe. I'm gonna go tell Stevie we're back in the game!"

"James!" Spencer finally laughs and you groan again when Bucky pushes off the door jamb, whistling as he walks away. "I hate my friends."

"Just wait until Morgan finds out. It'll be worse." Spencer chuckles as you sigh, and he gets up before walking around to the side of your bed. He places his palms down on the mattress, leaning over you to kiss you once more. "I'm gonna go to my room before Sergeant Barnes brings back reinforcements."

"Okay. I'll probably see you around the compound, but I'll do my best to stay out of your hair while you're looking for your unsub."

"Are we still talking after?"

"Of course. Well we can either talk or order in some Chinese and hole up in one of our apartments for a weekend. Your call."

"I like the second option," he says.

"I figured you would." You kiss him one last time and then push against his chest. "Now go. We'll figure things out soon."

[pips-fics]

ask: Hi 👉👈 if it’s okay can I request a hyunjin centric fic? where he’s feverish and emotional nd the others give him lots of affection and comfort 🥺🥺 I love your blog so much it’s so soft and feels safe and ahhh it makes me happy 👉👈 thank you and it’s okay if you don’t feel up to it !!

ask: hello! how are you? i just wanted to say that this is my all time fave blog :) i’m kinda new to tumblr so i’m not sure if that’s how u say it tho hahaha. are u down for requested atm? if yes, could i request a sick hyunjinnie with any caretaker (preferably bangchan). if u are not taking requests atm, then carry on with ur day 🌸✨💜

tw: vomiting, fainting

let us break ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

all idols are trained actors. a lot of people don’t realize it, maybe, but they had to be, to some extent. even before debuting, they learned by observation how to fake health, confidence, and calm - and beyond debut, it was happiness all the time. once, hyunjin found out that one of his best childhood friends was in the hospital, and then sang and smiled through a fansign without blinking an eye an hour later. he knew other idols who had endured much worse.

so yes, while hyunjin might not be entirely comfortable playing a role in a movie or a show, he was quite capable of faking it. maybe that’s why he was able to convince his group mates that he was okay right up until he collapsed.

he hadn’t expected things to get so bad. at first, he was just a bit congested - nothing he couldn’t pass off as allergies, really. once he’d gotten wrapped up in practicing, it had been easy to brush anything else off - like sweating, achy muscles, even nausea - as an effect of intense exercise. too easy, maybe, because hyunjin was not at all prepared for his vision to flicker with darkness or for his legs to entirely give up in the middle of dancing.

fortunately, he retained consciousness, but he wasn’t able to stand quickly enough to dodge minho as he moved to their next formation. the older boy tripped over hyunjin and tumbled to the ground with an “oof,” which was then followed by the chaos of everyone trying to figure out what had happened at once.

it was way too much for hyunjin’s fevered brain to process. he shut down, the sounds blurring into something entirely nonsensical, so hyunjin tuned it all out until a gentle hand on his back made him jump.

“hyunjinnie?” it was chan, wiping tears away. “can you tell me what’s wrong?”

hyunjin shook his head. “minho-hyung–”

“he’s okay,” chan said. “don’t worry.”

shuffling his feet awkwardly, minho nodded. “i know how to fall safely. it happens to the best of us.”

with the greatest of his greatest fears alleviated, hyunjin took a few deep breaths and looked around the room. besides minho, who was still standing nearby looking moderately uncomfortable, and chan, who was rubbing comforting circles on hyunjin’s back, the rest of the members were hanging out near the benches on the other side of the practice room. jisung was talking to their dance teacher while jeongin and changbin were messing with felix in what was probably a deliberate attempt at creating a distraction. seungmin was quietly observing hyunjin from a distance, concern written all over his face. distractions didn’t tend to work as well on him. hyunjin managed a smile in an attempt to be reassuring, but it didn’t seem to have the intended effect.

rather than relaxing, seungmin’s frown deepened, and he stood up and walked over, arms crossed. “don’t act like you’re okay,” he said, and hyunjin suddenly understood. he waved his arms around placatingly.

“i won’t - i’ll take today off, okay?” hyunjin caved easily. next to him, chan looked shocked, and not without reason.

three years ago, things would have gone down quite differently. things had gone down quite differently when hyunjin had been a trainee, and he’d woken up in the hospital with a very rattled seungmin at his bedside. hyunjin wouldn’t make that mistake again any time soon if he could help it.

that didn’t make it easy.

somehow the tears started up again of their own accord as hyunjin relented. “i’m sorry,” he said. “i– i’ll make it up to you all later, i know i’m behind with the dance, it’s just–”

this got the attention of the rest of the group, eliciting a scoff from changbin. “please don’t - if you do that, i’ll be even more behind than i already am.”

“give us a chance to catch up!” jisung added.

hyunjin shook his head. “but i’m supposed to be a dancer.”

felix bounded over and latched on to hyunjin’s arm. “you’re ahead of me, too. i think the only one you’re not ahead of is minho-hyung, and he made half of the choreography.”

minho nodded solemnly. “i cheated.”

hyunjin was too tired to feel better about himself, but too miserable to argue, so he just shrugged and avoided eye contact with everyone.

chan put a hand to hyunjin’s forehead, and nodded as if confirming something. “i’ll come back to the dorm with you, then - i could use a rest day, too, i think.”

with no room for argument, hyunjin decided not to bother trying, despite his misgivings about taking up chan’s time. also, out of all of them, hyunjin thought that chan could use the extra rest the most. by the time they arrived at the dorm, the guilt in hyunjin’s stomach was more or less consumed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and fear.

he settled in to the living room, sinking into the couch and trying to repress his body’s violent shivering by wrapping himself in a blanket, though it wasn’t very effective. hyunjin was relieved when chan sat next to him, pulling out his laptop - as expected, not really taking a break after all, but hyunjin didn’t mind. he knew chan was busy, and liked to feel productive as often as possible. people relaxed in different ways, anyway. just like that, despite the growing ache in his stomach, hyunjin began to relax and drift off to sleep.

it wasn’t until chan moved to get up that hyunjin snapped back awake. he immediately latched on to chan’s arm.

“hyung, don’t leave me.”

the words were out of his mouth before hyunjin had a chance to consider them, and he immediately hid his face in the couch cushions in embarrassment.

“hyunjinnie,” chan said gently, brushing a hand through hyunjin’s hair. he didn’t sound annoyed, so hyunjin peeked up at him, and found him smiling fondly. “i wasn’t going to leave, just going to get some water. you want anything?”

hyunjin felt his cheeks redden, and let go of chan’s arm. he shook his head. “sorry, hyung.”

“nothing to worry about,” chan said.

being alone even briefly was unsettling to hyunjin, feeling as bad as he was. it meant being forced to take stock of his body, which meant confronting that he felt, somehow, even worse than before. his head was pounding, everything hurt, and his stomach–

his stomach flipped very violently, and hyunjin retched, leaning over the couch, a bit stunned. he swallowed back the vile substance that rushed up his throat with a whimper and scrambled to his feet.

he made it to the toilet just in time for his body to rebel again. this time, hyunjin was hopeless to stop it, and it wasn’t long before tears were rolling down his cheeks. his hair was sticking to his face, matted down with sweat and in some places vomit. hyunjin tried to push it out of his way, but his hands were shaking terribly, and the nausea was so overwhelming, it was hard to focus on anything else.

chan found hyunjin with his cheek on the toilet seat, expression vacant, past the point of caring about a mess. when he saw chan, his face scrunched up into a sad pout.

“hyung… i’m sorry…”

chan chuckled and shook his head. “don’t apologize,” he said quietly, moving to hyunjin’s side just as the younger man began heaving again. chan held hyunjin’s hair and rubbed his shoulder blades, wishing he could do more. he couldn’t help but wince at the way hyunjin’s muscles tensed beneath his fingers.

it took quite a while for hyunjin’s stomach to settle. for about 10 minutes, it was on-and-off puking, half his time spent bent over the toilet, and the other half bonelessly slumped against chan. by the end, he was so exhausted that chan was considering bringing a mixing bowl into the bathroom, just so that hyunjin didn’t have to put so much effort into moving.

finally, hyunjin let out a shuddering sigh - or maybe a sob - and curled up in chan’s lap.

“can i sleep here?” hyunjin mumbled, words slurred with exhaustion. some of the sick in his hair was beginning to dry.

“soon, jinnie. for now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

chan opted to give hyunjin a warm bath, and was pleased when hyunjin relaxed into it, half-asleep. he figured it was okay for the younger man to take a quick nap under chan’s supervision. by the time hyunjin was clean, chan was reluctant to wake him. just as he was about to, hyunjin’s face scrunched up, and he whimpered.

“hyunjin?”

“‘m sorry,” he mumbled, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. “i’ll do better…”

chan shook him gently, and hyunjin’s eyes flew open. “i’m sorry, i–” he cut himself off with a gasp, taking in his surroundings slowly. “channie-hyung?”

“hey, buddy,” he said, speaking softly. “you okay?”

hyunjin was breathing in short, quick gasps. his eyes darted around the small room, as though searching for something. he blinked quickly, and looked back at chan, who offer a smile.

“it’s just us, you know?”

drinking air as though its supply was dangerously limited, hyunjin nodded. “i know, yeah, i just… hyung, i’m ruining your day off.”

chan shook his head immediately. “what are you talking about, jinnie? you know i’m here because i want to be, right?”

hyunjin bit his lip, trying not to cry. his fevered brain was not being kind to him. chan’s words were too genuine to deny, though, so he nodded, eyes closed. he felt chan’s arms wrap around him, hesitant until hyunjin hugged him back.

“jinnie, you’re allowed to be human. you’re allowed to hurt. it’s okay.”

something there caught him off guard. something broke, something that had been built up, something that had protected hyunjin for a long time. a little snap. it hurt, realizing he’d closed himself off without realizing it, and holding back tears was a lost cause, but then - that was kind of chan’s point.

why hide them?

so hyunjin cried, broken a bit, but held together by one of his best friends - his family. he let himself break a bit more - just as much as he needed - and didn’t flinch when the rest of the members came home. he let them in through a little crack of a doorway, let him hold him and remind him of who he was, and he began to heal.

——

no reader survey this time, too tired and my computer is breaking but please feel free to send in any thoughts you’d like to share, about the fic or otherwise!

——

feel free to send more asks! / rules

[havenoffandoms]

hi it's me again!! can you do "“I can’t believe I’m sitting in a dungeon with you of all people.” with geralt and reader? tysm i love ur writing so much

I can’t express just how happy I am that you’re requesting all these prompts! <3 This is not me procrastinating, and writing out these requests instead of my WIPs, or you know, actual uni work. This fill is a bit longer, just because I got inspired! I started this prompt thinking it would turn out funny and light-hearted, but my brain took a different turn. The second prompt you requested will be nothing but softness.

Prompt: “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a dungeon with you of all people.”

Warnings: This is on the angsty side, considered yourselves warned. 

Tumblr Request Masterlist “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a dungeon with you of all people,” you declare, rather dramatically, while glaring at your cell companion. Jaskier offers a sheepish smile in return, then startles when he feels something quick and furry brush past his wrist. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Y/N. Besides, Geralt is probably already on his way to save us, you know just how much our dear witcher likes to play the part of the knight in shining armour.”

You pull your knees closer to your chest and shoo away the stray rats nibbling at the sole of your shoes. You want to believe Jaskier’s words, you really do, but you’ve been stuck in this cell for… how long has it been, anyway? It’s hard to tell without any windows, making it impossible to assess with certainty what time of day it is. It’s been too long regardless, especially when you and Jaskier didn’t do anything that would justify throwing you in a cell, your only crime being your association with Geralt of Rivia. 

Your heart tightens at the thought. Whatever information these men wish to pull out of you, you decide that you’ll rather die than reveal anything about Geralt. And you know that Jaskier feels the same way about his long-time friend. 

“I don’t know, Jaskier. What if… what if he doesn’t?” 

“Now, now. None of that.” Jaskier moves until his arm is pressed against yours and he’s able to grab a hold of your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “If there’s anything I know for certain about my dear friend Geralt, it’s that he would never, ever, leave his friends stranded.”

“What if he doesn’t know that we’re in this cell?” you insist, your voice trembling with barely restrained panic, “what if he decides that we’re not worth the trouble? He needs to protect Ciri, so he might not come, and these men could ki-”

“Hey, Y/N, look at me,” Jaskier urges you to face him by tugging at your hand. You can’t hide the tears welling up in your eyes as you let fear take over. Jaskier offers a reassuring smile, despite the current circumstances, and you take comfort in the familiarity of his presence. “Breathe, alright? Panicking won’t help us. Have a little faith. Geralt cares about us. He cares about you. He’ll come, don’t worry.” 

Jaskier rests his forehead against yours affectionately, and for the briefest of moments, you allow yourself to believe that Geralt will indeed come and save the day.

___________

You’re suddenly jostled awake when you hear commotion just outside your and Jaskier’s cell. The bard is still pressed against you, though this time he looks a lot less confident than he did earlier when he was comforting you. You hear a loud crash, the sound of steel clashing against steel, then a pained scream followed by muffled gurgling. Something big and heavy crashes against your cell door, causing it to rattle precariously in its hinges. You hide your face in Jaskier’s chest and feel pull you closer to him, trying to protect you from whatever is happening outside despite the fact that he’s clearly as terrified as you are. The commotion goes on for another short couple of minutes which feel like hours to you and Jaskier. Finally, you hear the familiar sound of a sword being sheathed before someone unlocks your cell door. You don’t dare look up from the relative safety of Jaskier’s embrace, pinching your eyes shut as you expect the worst. 

“Geralt, my friend!” Jaskier lets out a startled laugh, ringing bright with mirth and evident relief at the sight of their saviour. He gently pulls you away from him, forcing you to look at him. “I told you, Y/N. I told you he’d come for us.” 

“Y/N,” you hear the rough baritone of Geralt’s voice call out for you, though there is an urgency in his tone that you’re not used to from him. You eventually peel away from Jaskier and turn to face Geralt. He’s covered in blood - though most of it probably not his own, you remind yourself to keep yourself from spiralling. You barely bite back a startled yelp when you take in the sight of his face; his eyes are still mostly black, a side-effect from the witcher potions he likely consumed before stepping into the dungeon to your and Jaskier’s rescue, and the dark sinewy veins contrast against his far too pale skin.

“Geralt? You… you came,” you breathe out, your tone halfway between reverend and horrified, “I… I’m sorry you had to… I’m sorry…”

You don’t notice the tears trailing down your cheeks until you hear Geralt’s sharp intake of breath. In the blink of an eye, thanks to the superhuman speed the potions grant him, he’s kneeling by your side, cupping your face in his hands and thumbing away the fresh wave of relieved tears. A sob pushes past your lips when you finally collapse against Geralt, the firmness of his chest as familiar as the sound of his voice by now. Your witcher pulls you impossibly closer and wraps you up in a tight embrace, whispering sweet reassuring nothings into your ear. 

“Don’t be sorry, dove. I’m here, you’re safe. Not goin’ anywhere, either. Shh, you’re alright…”

“I hate to ruin this heartfelt reunion,” Jaskier’s soft voice suddenly interrupts the moment, and you can sense the underlying urgency in his tone, “truly, this has the potential to become my next big hit, but we really should be getting out of here. It won’t be long before reinforcement comes our way…”

“Jaskier’s right,” Geralt rises to his feet and pulls you up despite your yelp of protest, “are either of you hurt?”

“No,” you manage to answer before wiping the last of your tears, willing yourself to keep it together a little while longer, “let’s go, the quicker we’re out of here the better.”

__________

You’re exhausted by the time you reach camp. Jaskier is happily chatting away about his newest ballad, like he and you did not just spend the gods know how long in a prison cell. You don’t understand how the bard does, how he manages to pretend like nothing happened when you’re still twitchy and trembling. Geralt ignores Jaskier’s ranting for the most part, too focused on making sure you’re fine. He helps you dismount Roach by offering his hand for support, though when you slide off the saddle, you all but slump limply into his arms. 

“Talk to me, dove,” he whispers to you, low enough so as to not draw Jaskier’s attention, “are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“Yes, Geralt.” You offer what you hope is a reassuring smile, but judging by the frown your efforts are met with, you’re unable to convince your love, “I’m just tired. And still a bit shaken.”

“I’ll get a fire going. Sit down, have a rest.”

“Oh, and by the way, Geralt,” Jaskier saunters over to where you and Geralt are standing, “you’ll have to tell me how you managed to bypass all these guards, and don’t be stingy on the details.”

“Not now, Jaskier,” Geralt grouses, still not letting go of you, “if you want to show your gratitude, get a fire going.”

Jaskier shoots you a concerned look, but he thankfully doesn’t press you as he goes to do as Geralt requested. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you sink deeper into Geralt’s embrace. You let his familiar scent wash over you in calming waves as he gently drags you down to his bedroll. You vaguely feel Geralt pull away from you and wrap a warm blanket around your shoulders, tucking you in snugly before pulling you to him once again. Your eyes flutter shut as you finally allow yourself to come down from your high. 

“I was so worried about you,” you hear Geralt mumble against your hair, before pressing a firm kiss to the crown of your head, “thought I’d gotten there too late to save you.” 

“You didn’t. You saved us, and that’s what matters.” You crane your neck as much as you’re able to capture Geralt’s lips in a tender kiss. “I’m just glad you came when you did.”

“As am I, dove.”

This time, the smile you flash him reflects nothing but genuine love and gratitude. You fall asleep in his arms, confident that he’ll watch over you and keep you safe. 

[goldenchan-fx2thepeacock]

Quick AU where Danny stays in town during Girls Night Out

Yeah, random thoughts spring into brain. Danny is trans. I think that's enough background info. Also, Tumblr got a new post editor, so I'm betaing it right now.

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Danny was supposed to go fishing with his dad. But something came up. AKA, Vlad wanted him to go visit him without Danny. So Danny was in Amity Park when he was supposed to be having dad bonding time. What could he say? His dad got that dumb book and everything. It was gonna be epic. Except stupid Vlad had to go and ruin everything. Whatever. Dad said they would go next weekend.

The first big issue was when Tucker disappeared. And he didn't. Might've been a dumb ghost thing. So he and Sam went to find stuff out. Except all the men in town were gone. It was glaring. "I-I'm sure it's nothing Danny!" Sam said nervously. "Yeah. It's gotta have been a stupid mistake. Maybe I'm immune cause I'm half ghost," Except there weren't any male ghosts either. "Yeah, that's gotta be it!" That when they heard Ember. "OH YEAH! NO MORE PESKY GUYS! IT'S A GIRL'S NIGHT OUT!" "Yes. You know, I'm surprised that worked. I was afraid it might've been a ghost only thing," Spectra drawled. "Of course it worked. The superior gender always prevails," Kitty replied. "And that's obviously female," Every vein in his body was pounding. "I think you might've confused sex for gender ladies," Sam said patiently. "We're not having sex!" Ember laughed. "You do realize how invalidating this can feel for trans people?!" Sam shrieked back. "If they're still here, that means it's a she," Spectra grinned. That was the last straw. He ran. As fast as he could. And for a half ghost that was fast. Once he got home, he slammed the door.

Sam saw Danny run off and knew how this was looking for him. "Isn't this rich? The ghost boy is really a girl," Kitty grinned. "I'm surprised I didn't notice sooner," Spectra laughed. Ember stayed oddly quiet for someone who was normally boisterously loud.

Danny curled in on himself. Herself. NO! Don't second guess yourself. It change the fact that it hurt. "All the men in town are gone!" He heard Jazz yell. "I realize that Jazz. Thank goodness your father is out of town," Mom sighed. "Wait, but Danny isn't! I really hope..." She was standing in his doorway. "FUCKING GHOSTS!" Jazz didn't swear. She never swore. "What is it Jazz? Oh. Danny, I'm so sorry," Mom pulled him into a hug. "I'll be fine," He grumbled. "Do you know which ghosts?" Jazz decided to change the conversation. "Spectra, Kitty and Ember," "Great. Spectra is going to use this horribly," Jazz grumbled quiet enough that only Danny could hear. "Listen, we have to get the guys back first," "Wait, if you're, that means any trans women in Amity are stuck there," Mom said. "Can we not talk about that? I'm seriously not in the mood," "At least pesky Phantom won't be here to get in the way," Jazz and Danny exchanged a look. Sam came bursting in. "Danny! Okay, I am going to make them even deader than before," Sam cracked her knuckles. "I'm fine Sam. Let's just find a way to fix this," "I have an idea!" Jazz said. "No," Danny, Sam and Mom said in unison. "Oh come on. Don't be like that. Not all my plans are bad," Jazz protested. "Speaking from experience (of being trapped in a thermos way too much for one night), that is completely untrue," "What was that about thermoses Danny?" Mom said. "Jazz put soup in my Fenton Thermos!" "I couldn't tell them apart! We really need to label things," "Like with a massive sticker that say Fenton?" "All our stuff has those!" "Fair enough," Danny conceded. It was the plan if anyone caught them talking about getting trapped in thermoses. It made sense because it actually happened. "Well, since Jazz's plan is out, I opt that we figure out how this whole thing happened," Mom said. "It's a combo between Kitty and Ember. Kitty has this thing that makes men disappear into another dimension. And Ember must've used her guitar to make it cover all of Amity. If we don't get them out in twelve hours, they'll be stuck there forever," "And I will have to resign to a life of raging dysphoria," "You were gonna have that anyways," "Times ten. This won't help anyways, but it won't be all bad," "Let's stop talking about you being trans. Danny, you're staying here," Jazz winked. He knew what that meant. They would get all the men back and Danny would keep the ghosts at bay. "Okay. So, from what they were blabbing, all we have to do is get them to do it again," Sam said. Once they had a plan in place, all they had to do was implement it. They left and Danny quickly transformed. Praying that Spectra wouldn't find a way to use this against him, he sped off. "Hey! Poo faces! I'm not gone, and it semi pisses me off!" He screamed. "Oh now sweety. Why would you want to leave behind the superior gender?" Spectra said. "Because it makes me feel horrible and like I was born wrong," "You were, weren't you," Don't let Spectra sink her claws in Fenturd! "Yeah, maybe I was, but if I work hard enough I can fix it," "How is Danny Phantom still here?" He heard Paulina say. Nope, not listening. "They're all going to know. You can't do anything about that," Spectra laughed evilly. "Now girls, follow the recipe! You too now," "I'm. NOT A GIRL!" The wail was probably ill planned, but Danny wasn't thinking straight. Shit, humans. He cut himself off. "Oh come on now. No matter how many times you tell yourself that, you still have to cover parts of yourself. Don't tell me you don't wake up every morning and wish you were a real boy?" "I am. I am a real boy. I just have to take a few extra steps to get there," "Oh come on now. Stop lying to yourself. Maddie, how can you possibly call these eggs? They're green," Okay, maybe dealing with Spectra first was a bad idea. But she was also taunting his mom. Deal with Ember. She must be better than this.

So he flew to a stage. Ember was rocking out with a bunch of girls. Sam was in the background. This was probably one of the less dangerous problems. "Listen, if you're going to taunt me for the fact that I'm still here, do it already," "Hey, listen kid. I'm not actually going to taunt you. Kitty and Spectra are being complete jerks, but I'm not going to judge you for being trans," "Y-you're not?" "Heck no! I'm doing this because I wanted to have a fun night without guys. You included. I'll just have to take a few extra steps to get rid of you!" Danny dodged the guitar strum easily. "Are you planning on bringing them back at the end of the night?" "That's really up to Kitty," "I guess," Sam could deal with Ember.

Next up was Kitty. Oh great, makeup. (I honestly forget what Kitty was doing, so makeup works) "Now girls. All you gotta do is apply the bronzer like so!" "Kitty! How would Johnny feel if he knew you were doing this?" "Oh come on now Ghost girl, you can't be serious. Johnny is having a guys night in all due time," "HEY! Don't you dare. Transphobia doesn't help anyone," Jazz yelled. "Oh stop complaining. She knows she doesn't belong with the guys. From the looks of it, Spectra's already gotten to you. This'll make this so much easier,"

The plan backfired immensely. Danny and Mom were a mess, Sam didn't manage to get the guitar, and Jazz just got in a debate with Kitty. Danny, having to keep up a facade, came downstairs. "How'd it go?" "Terribly. Though, I did learn the Ghost Boy is trans," Mom said. "Fascinating," "It's, well it's oddly human. Why would a ghost even bother?" "Turns out gender dysphoria comes to the grave," "Danny, this is no time for one of your morbid jokes," Yeah, maybe it was morbid, but it wasn't a joke. "Whatever. I guess we get to use Jazz's plan," "All we gotta do is convince them that a cis guy is still in town. Like wandered in after the disappearing act," "Great plan. Sam can't pretend to be me though," "How did you know I was going to do that?" "Lucky guess,"

So that's how Jazz ended up wearing a baseball cap and a pair of men's jeans into Ember's concert. "Did we really have to use a pair of dad's jeans? These barely fit," "You know, the fact that they fit at all should be surprising. Dad was skinny at one point in his life. Which means that one of us could be on his end of the gene pool," "It's probably you," "Don't make me think about that. Hiding what little chest I have is hard enough. If I got dad's genes, I'd honestly be terrified," "We haven't seen the women on his side of the family. And besides, you got the blue eyes black hair thing," "You are honestly scaring me. Now, I gotta scram before someone sees me talking to you. Mom or the ghosts," "Fair,"

And thus, the plan worked. Kitty, adamant that no men be left in Amity, blew another kiss. Ember amplified it. The men came back. The three got thermosed. Jazz laughed at their faces when they honestly though she was from out of town. Danny once again didn't get taken, even in ghost form.

Tucker and Sam found him curled up in his bed. "Hey man. I know this has gotta be tough for you," Tucker said. "Spectra had no right!" Sam continued. "Thanks guys. But I think I'm gonna take a few days off school," The trio heard Dash's voice outside. "Hey mom. I know what happened was scary. And I know it must've felt really bad, but I still see you as my mom," "Thanks Dash. I can always count on you to make me feel better," A woman's voice rang out. Danny looked over the window sill. "See Danny. It's not horribly weird. Just a few transphobic ghosts," Tucker laughed. "A couple," "What?" Sam and Tucker said in unison. "Ember isn't," "How do you know that?" "I talked to her," "Hey Fenturd! Don't you dare tell anyone about my mom! And don't be mean to her! I'm sure you wouldn't get it," "You'd be surprised Dash!" He grabbed his trans flag and hung it out the window. "I get it more than you seem to think!" Dash's mom smiled at him. "Y-you're trans? I thought you were just a loser!" "Yeah, and I had to talk to the transphobic ghosts. So I won't invalidate your mom!" Dash stared up at him. "Holy shit,"

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Praying that this uploads, cause I've got shoddy internet rn. And I'm working on my Gravity Falls crossover fic. I just had this pop into my mind. Prolly just gonna be a oneshot. I might make another fic about Jack's side of the family later, that's connected to this one.

[kitkat1003]

Where the Ice Crushes the Wave

Warning, this fic contains instances of:

Dubious Consent  Possession  Emotional Manipulation  Abuse  Minor Character Death  Hurt No Comfort  Blood and Gore 

Summary:

I don't know if you've heard of Possessed Tang, but it's everywhere on tumblr, and it's basically an excuse to hurt Pigsy.  I decided to go ham. The warnings I put are real.  Viewer Discretion is advised.

AO3 Link

Pigsy notices something is wrong immediately.

It’s not hard.  He’s been watching Tang for years, knows him like the back of his hand.  He knows that Tang is always there when he opens, at least for a few minutes.  They’ll banter, then Tang will disappear for a few hours before arriving at lunch to steal some noodles.  At some point, Pigsy will yell, chase him out but not really, and Tang will laugh all the while.

On a good day, Pigsy will invite Tang upstairs, and they eat dinner in Pigsy’s apartment.  They’ll sit in front of the TV for hours, making fun of idiots in cooking shows, and Pigsy will deliberate over and over on the idea of moving his hand to hold Tang’s.  He never does, because he’s afraid to push, afraid to ask for too much and lose what he already has.  

Pigsy can feel the power he has, vibrating in his skin, hidden because the person he used to be is not who he wants to be now, ever.  He knows that if he let that loose, if he grew tall and strong and dangerous, everyone around him would suffer; he holds it all in.

He just waits for Tang.  He can be patient.  He has spent a thousand years learning to be, and he thanks his master for teaching him, because if he was to wait for anything it would be this.

He’d spend an eternity and a day waiting for that.

For four days, though, Tang doesn’t come to the shop at all.

Pigsy texts him, calls him, and gets nothing.  He shouts more, is biting and sharp for those four days, wracked with worry and desperate for answers.

He searches even the town once.  Twice.  He waits, because that’s what he’s good at, but at the same time he wants to grow large and take charge, to roar into the night and shake the world until it tells him where his Tang is.

Four days of waiting before Tang appears in the shop in the morning.  He smiles and waves, as if he hadn’t blown Pigsy off for four days, as if he hadn’t worried Pigsy sick.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Pigsy grabs Tang by his scarf and pulls, too angry and worried and hurt to stop himself.

Tang starts but gives him an easygoing smile in return.  That’s what tips Pigsy off first.  The curve of the lips is wrong, more cunning than kind.

“Sorry-family emergency.” Easy deflection. Tang shrugs.  “I kept meaning to text you back, but stuff kept coming up.”

Pigsy could almost accept that, except Tang has never brought up his family before.  To talk about them now, it seems too...convenient.  And regardless of that, Tang has never left Pigsy in the lurch like this.  It’s too out of character.  A quick text to say ‘I’m okay’ would take but a minute.  Tang is kind enough to give Pigsy a minute of his time, he wouldn’t just let Pigsy sit worried.

Right?

He stares at Tang, squinting a little, and almost lets him go.  But then.

“You changed your glasses,” he notes.

The rims are blue.  He can see traces of snowflakes on the lenses.

Tang smiles, eyes shut and head tilted to one side.  Pigsy is suddenly aware of something dangerous, sitting beneath his friend’s skin.  The hairs on his arm stand up straight, and it is so, so obvious now that this isn’t Tang at all.

“Yes,” Not Tang says, and his smile is all teeth.  “Do you like them?”

Pigsy knows a challenge when he sees one, and he takes a breath.

“Prefer your old ones, actually,” he grunts out.  “Blue isn’t your color.”

Not Tang laughs.  It sends a shiver down Pigsy’s spine.  But it isn’t just fear, no, his cheeks color.

“On that, Pigsy, we will have to disagree.” His name out of Not Tang’s mouth sounds foreign, but it’s Tang’s voice, and Not Tang curls something soft and sweet around Pigsy’s name like it knows.

Pigsy goes to work, and firmly refuses to look over his shoulder.

He can feel Not Tang’s eyes on him anyway.

MK doesn’t notice anything wrong with Tang.  Mei doesn’t either.  Not Tang tells MK a story, talks animatedly with Mei about her next race and promises to be there.  Pigsy makes a bowl of noodles on autopilot and hands it to Not Tang.  Not Tang holds the chopsticks differently.  Not Tang doesn’t slurp up the noodles and fails to give Pigsy a smirk when he finishes the bowl, like Tang would have.

Pigsy is tense the whole day, and he waits until MK heads upstairs and the shop is closed to do anything.

“Can I walk you home?  Figure we should talk.  Haven’t seen ya in four days,” he jerks a thumb towards the door.  Not Tang tilts his head to the side, and his glasses flash in a way that is so familiar, and yet makes Pigsy shiver again.

“Sure.  I missed you.” And Pigsy is taken aback, because it sounds like Not Tang means it.  Maybe he—no, he knows this isn’t Tang.

But how much is it not Tang?

They walk out of the store, and down a block or two.  Pigsy doesn’t know where Tang lives, though he suspects somewhere near the library, but Not Tang is following his lead.  Looks like Not Tang doesn’t know, either.

He grabs Not Tang by the scarf, and drags him into an alley.  He slams Not Tang against the wall, hard but not too hard because Not Tang is still Tang’s body. Tang is still mortal.

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” he starts, and he lets his tusks out, baring his sharp teeth like a challenge, a growl in his throat.  His eyes glow ocean blue, his nostrils flare.  “But you better get the fuck out of my friend or—”

The words die in his throat as Not Tang laughs, cold and dark, and as he looks up and sees his own gaze met with something sharp and blue and icy.

“Or what, Bajie?” 

His voice has an undercurrent of something familiar, another voice Pigsy recognizes.  He wracks his brain.

“What, don’t recognize me?  Not surprising, when only one of your troupe ever could.”

That has Pigsy stumbling back, because he knows, now, he knows what that means.  It’s a stain on his pride, one of his many regrets, it’s—

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and she laughs.

“In the flesh, so to speak.  Does he suit me?” she asks, tugging on Tang’s skin and hair like one might with clothes.

She frowns, tilts his head to the side at an unnatural angle. “I’m not a fan of red,” she tells him. Then Tang changes, hair black to white from the roots.  It travels down, red to blue, silver to gold.  His skin gains a blue tint, as well.  The air around them drops in temperature, and Pigsy can see his breath.

She brushes herself off, takes a little bow, and all Pigsy can see is Tang who isn’t—this isn’t—how did she—

She takes a confident step forward, and Pigsy, in all his rage, still only sees blue.

“You get out of him right now, or—”

In a flash, she pulls out a knife and presses it against Tang’s throat.  Pigsy sees a few spots of red from where she’s pressing the blade, and cool terror sinks down his spine.  She wouldn’t, would she?  He can’t be sure, with how she’s wielding the weapon like a promise.  He takes a step forward out of panic, and stops when she raises a brow. 

“You do anything but what I say, and I stain this new outfit.” She smiles, and it’s Tang’s smile, the one that Pigsy melts under the sight of every time.  

But here, now, he’s ice.  Fear roots him to the spot and Pigsy swallows the lump in his throat.

“And if I tell the others about ya when you aren’t looking at me?” he grinds out between gritted teeth.

She tilts her head to the side. “Why would they believe you?  After all, you wouldn’t believe your own brother,” Pigsy flinches, remembering how easy it was to get Triptaka to banish Wukong, because Bajie never would pass up an opportunity to call his brother a liar, to hurt him.  “Turnabout’s fair play, and you’re on the losing side.”

Pigsy clenches his fists.  He can feel the desire to get big, to roar, to tear her out of him, rise in his chest.  But this can’t be solved with violence, as easy as he wants it to be.  Pigsy has never been good at diplomacy.

“What do you want,” he spits out.

She brushes Tang’s hair out of her eyes.  They glow in the evening light, bright and malicious.

“I have a few errands, and while this mortal is useful, he is a bit...weak.” She flexes Tang’s fingers experimentally.  “You’re quite the muscle.  I think you’d be quite useful, hmm?”

Pigsy does know a challenge when he sees one, but this time, he’s backed into a corner, with no way out, so he slumps his shoulders.

“Alright.  Just….just don’t hurt him.” It comes out a tired plea.  “And stop-don’t ruin him like that.” He gestures to her getup.  He’s sure she’s only showing him this to hurt him, because he wants Tang.  Not whatever this abomination is.  Just practically, it would give her away if she didn’t change back. Though he’s not sure how much of a choice he gets, regardless. 

She sighs, but after a moment the pleasant red and gold return, and Tang’s hair is black again.

“Fine.  Picky, though,” she places Tang’s hand on his cheek, cupping the side of his face, and Pigsy’s cheeks warm.  When he looks up, everything about Tang looks normal, except the blue rims on the glasses.  He looks away.

“Tomorrow,” he tells her.  “We’ll start tomorrow.  And once-once I’m done, you’re out of him, got it?” 

He glares, and she smiles, Tang’s mouth curving into something more unhinged.  Brown eyes glow light blue.

“It’s a date.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang doesn’t remember the few days that he disappears.  He doesn’t even remember disappearing, to be honest.  He just walks to the noodle shop as if nothing is wrong, because to him, nothing is.  

He can tell that something off, though.  Not wrong, but off, because when he walks the feeling of his feet against the ground is muted.  Everything is a little muted, like all of his senses are muffled by something.  He shakes his head a few times, to try and break through the fog.  It doesn’t work.

He waves at Pigsy when he walks in, and then nearly jumps when he’s grabbed.  He tries to open his mouth to say something, but suddenly everything goes cold, and he’s pushed back into his own head.  Someone else takes the reins, Something Else moves his lips.

Family emergency, he hears himself say.  He sees the reflection of himself in Pigsy’s eyes.  His glasses are different.  Pigsy notices.

He watches the Something Else make Pigsy very aware that the Something Else exists, and then he is thrown into the passenger’s seat.  When MK comes over to ask for a story, Tang is allowed to tell him one.  When Mei talks about her next race, Tang can avidly respond.

He keeps trying to explain that something’s wrong, to them, but when he opens his mouth to try and say the words nothing comes out, or the Something Else will say something.  A joke, or a fact, or nothing at all, and doesn’t silence sometimes speak the loudest.  

It knows too much about him and the longer he knows it’s in his head, the more he can feel it, cool tendrils poking into memories he’d rather have private.  It searches, it pries, and it leaves no stone left unturned, leaving Tang feeling vulnerable, invaded.

The day ends.  Pigsy asks to walk him home and Tang finds himself agreeing before he can stop himself, before it can.  He wonders if it even tried.

They walk, and it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy snaps.  Tang is honestly surprised it hasn’t happened sooner, when he’s unceremoniously thrown against the wall.  It hurts, but much like his other senses, the pain is muted.  He knows Pigsy isn’t using his full strength though.  Pigsy can throw people five times his size out the door with ease.

He follows the conversation with bated breath, and then he sees something like recognition flicker in Pigsy’s eyes, and he hears Baigujing, and it says Bajie, and—

Oh.

There’s a knife to his throat.  

He sees his reflection in Pigsy’s wide eyes.  His hair is white.  His eyes are a startling, glowing blue, and he can feel blood welling up where the knife pierces his skin.

Pigsy buckles.  Tang watches him leave.

“What do you want?” he asks, to the Something Else.

He gets farther and farther away from control with each step she takes in his skin, every moment he isn’t allowed to speak.  He can feel cool shackles on his wrists, thick as steel.

“You like him very much, don’t you?” A voice, chilling and cruel, rings in his ears.  Tang doesn’t need her to specify who she’s referencing.  They pass by a window, a storefront.  She stops, and turns to it, so Tang can see her smile with his mouth in the reflection.

Tang’s blood turns to ice, and he wonders if it’s because she’s the one in his body or if it’s just his fear, in the end.  She grins wider, and Tang’s helplessness and terror grow.

“I am going to break him, and you are going to watch.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day Pigsy is quiet.  He doesn’t say much besides telling MK to take out the orders placed on the counter.  His eyes occasionally flick to her, to Tang, to the thing sitting on the counter that looks familiar in looks alone.

Pigsy knows he has to remember.  He can’t forget that this isn’t Tang.  Even when he sees her sitting on the same barstool with that same smile, when she learns how Tang holds his chopsticks and learns how Tang eats, even when she is already perfecting something that everyone else sees is perfect.

This isn’t Tang.  Pigsy can’t forget that.

That night, she gestures for Pigsy to follow her.  He does, walking step by step with her, waiting for her to tell him what to do.  She takes him toward the marketplace, where Pigsy goes to get his ingredients a few times a month.

“You remember that Spider Queen, don’t you?  Quite the adventure we had,” she says, and Pigsy bristles at the implication.

“You weren’t there,” he growls out. 

She places a hand on Tang’s chest, expression one of mock offense.  “How could I not have been?  I mean, you were there with me. Is this not the skin?” she tugs on the fleshy part of Tang’s wrist, hard enough that the skin goes red.  

Pigsy says nothing, and shrugs.  

“Regardless, the Spider Queen will get in my way if she isn’t handled, so you’ll take care of her.  Better to squash a bug before it grows.” She points to the Spider Queen’s stall.

“I don’t kill anymore,” Pigsy grunts.

He hasn’t for years.  He took that part of himself and locked it away, made himself small because he wanted people to feel safe around him without being scared of what he could do.  He doesn’t kill.  He makes people food, he doesn’t harm them more than any other mortal could.

The knife is back out, and Pigsy knows where she’ll imply it going.

“I do,” she purrs.  “And you’re mine, so you do too.”

Pigsy clenches his fists, and shifts.

He’d imagined showing Tang his demon form.  Imagined preparing for months, carefully explaining.  Imagined going someplace remote, someplace theirs, and revealing himself.  Imagined scenarios where Tang ran, imagined scenarios where Tang stayed.

He grows tall, and burly, and looming and powerful.  He’s about eight feet tall, here, with the muscles to match the height.  His rake appears in his hand, prongs sharp.  It’s as tall as he is, and the prongs are longer than his forearm.  She looks up at him with an impressed expression that looks wrong on Tang’s face, yet makes Pigsy’s cheeks burn anyway.

“Magnificent,” she breathes, and he shivers at the sound.

He holds his rake tight, setting it on his shoulder and glancing over to the stall.  He tries to stop his hands from shaking, as she leads him to the entrance.

“Give me a lift, won’t you dear?” she asks and Pigsy grits his teeth.

He lifts Tang up, gentle with his body because even if Tang isn’t the one asking Pigsy will be damned if he hurts him like this, and they descend.

The Spider Queen’s lair is as eerie as he remembers it, though it seems to have been upgraded.  There are pods of glowing green liquid everywhere, and a computer as well.  He catches what looks like a human bent over it, tapping at keys and sighing to himself.

“Is it done yet?  The world needs its Queen to return.” He hears her voice from the right, and shifts a little to hide as she comes in.  The man at the computer stiffens, and turns around at perfect attention, bowing.

“U-Unfortunately, such a complex undertaking is going to take more time, my Queen,” the man trembles out.

“What are you waiting for?” Tang’s voice slithers into his ear, and Pigsy fights back the urge to growl, letting out a huff of a breath and narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

“An opening,” he replies.

“This has to be done by New Years!  I want to start the Year of the Spider on time,” she growls the last part out.

“Y-Yes, my Queen,” The scientist replies.

She turns away, and that’s when Pigsy jumps down.  She just barely dodges his rake and Tang jumps off of his shoulder to settle in the shadows.  Fine.  Now Pigsy doesn’t have to worry about him getting caught in the crossfire.

The Spider Queen recovers quickly, getting into a battle stance.  She gives him a once over, and then smirks.

“So the pig is back to fight, hmm?  I would have liked to see you in this form last time,” She purrs out the words, chuckling to herself.

Pigsy charges without response.  He swings his rake, she ducks, throwing out a sharp leg.  He blocks with his arm and grunts when the blade edge of her leg digs in.  He lifts a leg and kicks her, no holds barred where her humanesque body and her spider body meet.  A weak point.

She lets out a shout of rage as she’s knocked back.  He slices to the right, knocking off her helmet.  Long, messy black hair tumbles down in front of her face.  She pushes it back, darts forward, throwing out some webs.

He dodges the first few, but one catches him by the foot, trapping him to the floor.  He twists and dodges as best he can when he can’t move, but she’s closing in.

He throws out the rake, in a last ditch attempt as she goes in for the killing blow, and catches her neck between two of the prongs, following through with the swing, bringing her crashing down onto her side.

“Fool!” she grits out, twisting her legs to try and stand.  “I am the Queen of this world!  I will feed you to my subjects, you—”

Pigsy twists the rake in one sharp motion.

Crack.

She goes very silent, and very still.  Pigsy breathes, as her body slumps down on itself.

Okay.  

Pigsy slowly, carefully, pulls away the rake.  

He waits for movement.  He finds none.

Okay.

“Do try and make sure she stays dead.”

He jumps at the sound, turning around to see Tang.

Tang is watching.  Tang.  Tang watched—

Not Tang.  He has to remember that.

Her eyes glitter in the low light.

“A broken neck can be fixed.  Make sure she can’t come back.  Wouldn’t want to have to deal with a vengeful Queen, right?” She gestures to the corpse.

Pigsy grips his rake tightly.

The prongs go through flesh far too easily.

He thinks they’re about done, but then she points to the computer.  More specifically, to the man cowering beneath the control panel of the computer.

“No witnesses,” she says. “Get rid of him.”

Pigsy is frozen in his spot.

“Please,” the man begs. “I didn’t want to help, I had no choice!  She was going to kill me-I-I’ll destroy everything I did!  I’ll delete the code.  Everything!”

“You misunderstand.” Tang-she-walks carefully towards the cowering mortal.  “We didn’t do this to save the world.  We did this to get her out of my way.”

Dawning horror flashes on the man’s face.

Pigsy hesitates.  A demon is one thing, this is just a mortal.  A human.  Pigsy glances at the man, and imagines her pointing him at MK.  Or Mei.  He couldn’t.  He can’t.

“Would you rather I do this?” She pulls out the knife, pointing it at the man.  “I know you prefer him in red, though I hear blood is difficult to get off clothes.”

At the thought of Tang, who could be still in there, having to watch himself kill, Pigsy moves.

The man hedges his bets and runs.  He ducks under the knife and Pigsy’s outstretched arm, sprints toward the exit, but Pigsy’s arm swings around after him.  He can’t take more than a step forward because his foot is still stuck by the webs, but his legs are long and his arms much the same.  He reaches over in a panic, and grabs the man by the head, aiming to muffle his shouting, stop him from doing anything while Pigsy tries to negotiate, when—

There’s a sickening crunch, and squelch, and the man goes limp.

Pigsy is very, very aware of the liquid dripping from between the spaces of his fingers.  He’s afraid to open his hand.

She claps, then is at his side, cutting him free of the webs.

“Good work.” She pats him on the side.

Pigsy trembles.  Slowly, he opens his hand.

All of his body falls but the head. The head.

Pieces drop, clattering or squishing or dripping.  Pigsy’s hand is covered in it. Hair clings to his fingers.  Skin folds in on itself on the ground, with nothing solid to hold it taut.

Pigsy feels like he’s going to be sick.  He didn’t mean….he hasn’t taken this form in years, decades, he isn’t used to the power it holds.  He didn’t mean to, he was panicked, he just, he needed the man to stop.  That was it, it wasn’t on purpose, he didn’t mean—

“Feels good,” she whispers in his ear, somehow.  “Doesn’t it?”

Pigsy stumbles away, trying to shake the pieces, the blood, the person off of his hand.  He trips over the Spider Queen’s body and crashes into the computer, destroying it.  His knees pull toward his chest as he tries to breathe.  

It takes a good minute for him to realize that she’s rubbing a hand up and down his back in a comforting manner.  He looks down at her, because even sitting he’s taller, and her smile is—that’s not hers.  

“Tang?” his voice is hoarse.  His tusks always get in the way of speaking.

Tang smiles.  It’s soft, pitying, almost sympathetic.

Pigsy feels himself melt, a little.  It’s almost familiar.

“It’s okay,” Tang says, but is it him?  Pigsy doesn’t know if he wants it to be.  A part of him craves the comfort of something familiar, another doesn’t want Tang to see him at his worst, covered in blood, with a body count.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Tang says, she says, Pigsy can’t tell.  His head is already trying to process what he’s done.  “Let’s go.  C’mon.”

Pigsy lets himself be helped up.  He lifts Tang onto his shoulder and climbs out of the cave, shivering when the chilly night air whips past him.  He still has a few hours before he has to get up for work.  He sets Tang down on the ground, shifts back to his smaller form.

Tang looms over him like this.  Pigsy regrets becoming small.

“Shall we?” Tang gestures towards Pigsy’s apartment.

Pigsy nods, and they walk home.  Once they arrive, Tang heads to the couch, and Pigsy to the bathroom.  He scrubs and scrubs at his hands, until the water stops turning pink and then some.  His palms burn, skin scraping against skin, but he can see the pieces that can’t fit in the drain.

He vomits, finally, in the toilet.  He coughs, wiping his mouth, and hunches over the sink, glancing at himself in the mirror.  Deep breaths.  He just needs to remember that this will be over, eventually.

“I’m going to bed,” he calls, as he leaves the bathroom.  

His hands are still shaking.  His throat burns, and he lets it, maybe as a punishment.  He doesn’t know.

“Goodnight!” Comes a voice that sounds too much like the real thing.  Pigsy takes in a shuddering breath and vanishes into his bedroom.

He curls underneath the blankets and tries to get the cold feeling to escape his bones.  It seems to settle in, regardless.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whatever Tang had imagined she’d make Pigsy do, it wasn’t this.  He watches as they head to the market, and then as Pigsy changes, per her request.

He wonders if Pigsy would have ever shown him this form otherwise.  As is, Tang is terrified, but not of Pigsy.  He’s worried for Pigsy.  Because he knows the power Zhu Bajie can wield. here He knows that she knows, too.

Watching Pigsy fight and kill is as impressive as it is heartbreaking.  He can see the shock, the horror, as Pigsy grapples with his actions.  Tang can’t fight the revulsion when he sees Pigsy kill the poor bystander but at the same time he can’t hate him for it.  

He could never hate Pigsy foremost, but in this instance, he can’t hold this carnage against him. Not when Pigsy curls in on himself, his bigger form trying to be as small as possible.  Not when he won’t look at his own blood-stained hands.

He moves to take a step, stumbles as she throws him the controls.  The longer he isn’t allowed to do anything, to speak, to move, the harder it is to get used to doing it when he has control.  He wonders if he’ll forget how to walk eventually.  He wonders if he’ll forget how to breathe.

He tries to comfort.  He’s not allowed to tell Pigsy that it’s him, because she won’t let him, but he can comfort, because she needs Pigsy functioning for this to work.  Maybe Tang should be offended that she’s using him, but truthfully,  he just wants to do something to help Pigsy.  He can’t just stand aside to watch.  It’s almost worth being used if he’s used to help.

Pigsy looks at him, then.  Tang wants to apologize.  To beg for Pigsy to stop. He doesn’t know if Pigsy can recognize that it’s him, either.  The words don’t make it to his throat and she throws him into the backseat again.

When they get home, Pigsy stays in the bathroom for too long.  Tang hears the sound of retching and winces.  He wishes he could do something, say something.

As he falls asleep, he still wishes he could apologize.  For something.  Anything.  Everything.

He can’t feel his legs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Pigsy gets up and heads to work.  Tang is sitting upright on the couch.  Pigsy pointedly doesn’t look at him, quick while making breakfast, eating, and grabbing his chef’s coat before heading to the shop.  He typically starts two hours before opening, setting up the dough, stringing out noodles.

He’s slow, today.  His hands shake as he tries to work, he’s halfway to where he’s supposed to be when MK comes down, on time for once.  He forces himself to speed up because he knows calls will be coming in soon.

He sets the broth to boil, stirring once, glancing down at it to check its progress, and—

It’s red.

It’s red and it’s spilling from his fingers, sticky and thick as it falls into the broth, the stench of it has him trembling violently enough that the spoon slips from his fingers.  Pieces of hair and bone bubble up from the bottom, and Pigsy sees an empty eye socket, staring at him in terror, pleading horror, begging for mercy.

He grabs the pot and pours it into the sink, he can’t let anyone see it, can’t let anyone know what he’s done, the stains settling deep into his skin with no way out, no way to make it disappear.  A man is dead.  A man is dead and Pigsy killed him and it’s everywhere and everyone is going to know and he has to get rid of it.

When he pours it into the drain, there’s not a spot of red in it.  He watches his half an hour’s worth of work disappear with an unsteady breath, setting the pot back on the stove and washing his hands.  The water boils his fingers.

“Uh...Pigsy?” MK calls.  

Pigsy turns and does not look in the direction where he knows Tang will be.  He catches MK’s expression, brow is pinched in concern.

“What?” He doesn’t mean to growl the words out as he does.

“Um, why’d you do that?  It looked almost ready,” MK points to the now empty pot.

Pigsy hides his shaking hands by clenching them into fists. “Bad batch,” He replies, succinct.

When he glances MK’s way, he imagines how easy it would be for him to repeat last night.  Would it sound the same, the skull crunching in his grip quick, or would MK’s Monkey King powers offer enough resistance so that it’d be slow?  

Pigsy remembers his old name, his old title, his old desires.  He would fight with Sun Wukong and enjoy it.  He is powerful, then and now.

He promised himself he wouldn’t be that person again, that he’d be better.  But looking back at that journey, is it any wonder that he’s so quickly fallen back into the same bad habits?  Zhu Bajie was rude, cruel, a liar.

Why’d Pigsy expect that he could change?

“A shame.” 

He nearly jumps, at the sound of her voice, his voice. He glances at the blue rimmed glasses, brown eyes.  Warm and cold.

“It looked delicious, at least,” Tang says, head resting on his palm.  He smiles, soft.

Pigsy looks away.

He gets back to work.

Some of her jobs are simple.  Break something, find an artifact.  Pigsy learns not to ask questions, because none of the answers give him much comfort.  Occasionally, Pigsy will get his hands messy, stained with the blood of demons.  Those nights he barely sleeps, too busy trying to scrape the dried liquid from beneath his fingernails.

He justifies it, even though there is no true justification for the carnage.  Thankfully, there haven’t been any more mortal deaths.  The demons he fights are bad, he thinks, as he watches them bleed out on the floor.  The demons he fights would be going after MK if he didn’t get rid of them first.  

MK mentions offhandedly that there haven’t been as many demon fights recently.  Pigsy horrifies himself with the sick satisfaction he feels, the pride that swells in his chest.

He’s able to justify his actions, but it doesn’t fix the gaping hole in his chest with every swing of his rake.  The worst part, he thinks, is that it’s becoming easier to do.  There’s a certain familiar numbness that comes with a higher and higher body count.  He went through it thousands of years ago, when he first began fighting, and he goes through it now.

It settles in faster this time.  Must be his experience.

He stays in the kitchen more often during the day.  Ignores the banter between MK and Mei when they barrel in, only half hears the stories shared.  He tries to lose himself in the motions of cooking, something that’s his, safe.  He can still do this.  So he’s fine.

She’s always there, either at the counter during the day or by his side at night.  Pigsy makes a few valiant attempts to text someone, to tell them what’s happening, but she steals his phone and Pigsy isn’t allowed to touch it.  She nearly cut off Tang’s finger when he attempted to take it back.  He stops trying.

She follows him when he goes out, whether it be to the market or just on walks.  No one raises an eyebrow at this—Pigsy has always stuck close to Tang, and vice versa.  To the outside world, this is normal.  She can tease and cloy and claw her way close to him and it’s just the silly antics everyone else expects.  Any reaction Pigsy has is normal too, when he shouts and rages and pushes Tang away, because that’s just how he reacts.  He’s loud and he’s mad.

He’s being played and he’s playing right into her clutches, but he doesn’t know what he can do.

Pigsy is so tired.  Some days, he manages to convince himself that things will be fine, soon.  He has to think it will be. If the demons were stronger than him, he thinks, maybe they’d deserve to live.

If they were stronger than him, maybe he’d get to stop.

Another development, one he can’t wrestle his feelings together on, is how Tang, how she, acts during their expeditions.  There are lingering touches across his back, fingers trailing on his neck, a palm cupping his cheek.  Sweet smiles thrown his way, gentle words whispered into his ear, arms curling around his form as he’s pressed against Tang’s body.

Every time he freezes, caught between revulsion and want, because he loves.  Desperately.

That’s why he’s doing this after all.  That’s why he even bothers.  Sleepless nights, reopened wounds, returns to bad habits—it’s all for a man Pigsy cares just a little too much for.

She gets bolder with each passing night.  Interlaces their fingers when he sets his hand on the counter during the day.  Sends him compliments that make him weak in the knees.  He knows that it’s not Tang, but sometimes he wonders.  Maybe hopes. 

Because she’ll smile at him, but it'll be Tang’s smile, soft and almost a smirk but never quite there.  He doesn’t know if that means Tang is still in there or if she’s just getting better at pretending to be him.

He doesn’t know which is worse.

It’s a little over a month later, one night after a job that leaves Pigsy’s hands bloody and his eyes weary, that he gives way, collapses in on himself.  He grabs Tang’s scarf in shaky hands and trembles, because he’s so tired.  He misses his best friend. He misses the person he’d do anything for, the person he’s doing the unspeakable for.

“Please,” he whispers, voice hoarse.  “Take me-just-I’m stronger than him-I won’t fight back, you can do all the damage you want just—” he chokes on the words.  “Give him back to me.  You can have me, just give him back.” 

He takes a shuddering breath, blinking away tears.  They fall down his face anyway.

“Please.”

He trembles against Tang, something familiar made foreign because she’s stolen it from him, against something as silence fills the space.

Soft hands lift his chin and he hears a chuckle so familiar.  He hates that doesn’t know who is laughing.

“Oh, Pigsy,” And it’s her, and it’s Tang, and Pigsy searches for understanding as a thumb brushes away his tears.  She, Tang, leans down until their eyes are level.

Pigsy searches for something familiar in them.  

His favorite color is the color of Tang’s eyes, brown with a hint of red, soft and warm.  

“Why would I need you, when you’re already giving yourself to me?”

And then Tang-she-his lips collide with Pigsy’s and-and-and—

Pigsy’s eyes are wide.  This is-he’s wanted this for years, it’s everything, nothing, all at once.

He shouldn’t like this.  This isn’t-it isn’t Tang.  But Pigsy is pressed against the wall as Tang’s body leans forward, like everything Pigsy has ever wanted, and Pigsy closes his eyes.  He closes his eyes and forgets, just for a moment, where he is and what’s happening, decides to be selfish.

When his eyes are closed, he can’t see anything.  He can only feel Tang’s hands on the sides of his face, holding him so tenderly, Pigsy’s hands still bunched up in that scarf.  He can’t see the glowing blue eyes, or the smirk, he can only feel the smile against his lips.

Tang pulls away first.  Pigsy drops his hands and nearly trips over himself, eyes wide open again to blue eyes and a wide smile and a laugh that is cruel and knowing.  

“My, my, that sure was something!  You really are desperate, aren’t you?” she says.

Pigsy wipes his mouth, trembling.  He feels sick, not because he didn’t like it, but because he did.  Does.  

“You-I—” he tries to explain himself, but she tuts and walks forward with a small smile on her face, patting him on the head like one would a dog.

“It’s alright, I understand.  For a mortal, he is attractive.” She fiddles with Tang’s hair.

Pigsy wants to throw up.  He wants to scream.  He wants to throttle her, but he can’t hurt Tang.  

He might have already.

How much does Tang see, does Tang feel?  Did he see this, feel this?  Did he watch Pigsy use him, like the monster he is, because Pigsy is selfish?  The thoughts spiral deeper and deeper into something self destructive and Pigsy bites on his thumb hard enough to make it bleed.

“If it’s any consolation, he loves you too,” she says, and Pigsy freezes.  “Do you think he never noticed how your hand would twitch toward his?  You’re terribly obvious, but he’s a coward as well.”

Pigsy feels his breathing pick up.

Tang, he, he love-loved?  Past tense, did Pigsy ruin it?  Did he break something he never even had?  Might not ever have, now?

A hand trails across his back and Pigsy shudders.

“No need to worry.” She leans in close, until Pigsy can feel her cool breath against his ear.  “If you’re good, I think I can make this happen again.”

And then she walks away, leaving him in the wreckage.  Pigsy breathes, clenches and unclenches his fists, fighting back the urge to cry because he doesn’t have the energy for more tears.  He moves to leave, when—

“It seems you do have a bit of control left,” he hears, right before she’s out of earshot.

Everything goes cold.

What does that mean?  Was the kiss...was that Tang?  Or was it-what does that mean?

The more he thinks about it, the more his head goes through loops.  Tang is in there.  Tang has control-some, a bit, no specifics.  Pigsy isn’t a thinker, he doesn’t know how possession works.  Maybe-maybe Pigsy isn’t as terrible as he thinks he is.  Maybe that means, maybe, it wasn’t all a lie?

His walk home takes ten minutes longer than it should.  He keeps bringing up his fingers to his mouth, tracing the spaces where Tang’s lips slotted into, like a perfect puzzle.  Every part of him she touched tingles like static, and Pigsy can’t think, can’t find a single thought.  If it wasn’t Tang, if it was just her...

He doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that he doesn’t want this.  Not like this.

He doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that deep down, he does.  Regardless.

What kind of monster does that make him?  

Is it worse than the one he already is?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang is quiet when she kisses Pigsy.  He doesn’t feel anything, touch long lost to his senses, floating in empty space.  Some days, he doesn’t know where he ends and she begins but he knows that he has no weight to himself, not anymore.

He’s quiet, an ache in his chest growing ever painful as Pigsy gives in, and he wonders if it would have been like this if it were him.  Something in the heat of the moment, passionate, real.

He wonders and grieves a life he isn’t having.  She uses his mouth and whispers sickly sweet nothings and turns Pigsy around so that Tang isn’t sure that Pigsy knows what’s up and what’s down.  She walks away and leaves Pigsy to try and collect himself, and all Tang wants to do is say sorry.

For what, he isn’t sure.  This isn’t his doing.  But that was him all the same.  

Tang bows his head and sniffles.  He watches her wipe his eyes.

“It seems you do have a bit of control left,” she says, staring down at the tears in his palm.  She flicks the water away.  “Get over yourself.  If you wanted this, you should have made it happen.  You had plenty of time.”

And the worst part, Tang thinks, is that with the years he’s known Pigsy, he knows she’s right.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Pigsy tries to keep some semblance of normalcy after that, though it’s hard.  He can feel Tang’s eyes on him, gaze lingering as Pigsy moves, day after day.  He tries to keep his cheeks from flushing, tries from reacting at all, when Tang looks his way.  He forces himself to remember that the kiss wasn’t right, wasn’t Tang.

But at the same time he can’t forget what he heard.  What it could mean.  Pigsy has mired himself in despair so deeply that the scrap of hope he feels is enough to keep him teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something selfish.  

There’s a change in the air between them, he knows. MK and Mei notice too, as much as he tries to keep this from them, keep them safe.  He doesn’t want them trapped, like he is.  He couldn’t handle it if they were.

“You guys have been acting weird.” Mei hops up to the counter as she speaks, glancing between Tang and Pigsy with squinted eyes.

“Oh?” Tang asks, leaning his head on his hand.

Not Tang.

“Yeah, you guys have been real clingy,” MK slings an arm around Mei’s shoulders, rubbing his chin with his hand.  

Mei brightens.

“You guys have finally gotten together, haven’t you!” She points an accusatory finger at the both of them.

Pigsy freezes.  Flushes from his feet all the way up to the tips of his ears, and Tang laughs, a soft, sweet, bell of a laugh.

“Were we that obvious?” Tang chuckles into his sleeve.

Mei bounces in her seat, and MK looks away, a little flustered himself at the idea.

“Uh, totally!  We, uh, we both saw this coming.  Yeah.” Pigsy would laugh at MK’s poor attempt at a lie if he wasn’t frozen in place, stuck between horror and something else he can’t acknowledge.

Some part of him wants to pretend this is real.  Some part of him, growing with every passing second, wants to play along until he forgets it’s a game.  Because he’s been fed emptiness and sadness and helplessness and, suddenly, there’s this hope—maybe false, maybe real, dangling in front of him.  

There’s something good, and something kind, and something Pigsy needs.  Something so cold it becomes warm and Pigsy would like to be warm.

“How’d it happen!  I want details!” Mei leans forward, face a few inches away from Tang’s, and Pigsy fights the urge to pull her away from him.  He doesn’t know if it’s because he wants to keep her safe or him.

Tang goes into a story, dipping into the tone he would with Monkey King tales, and Pigsy feels the edges of static crawling up his neck, a high pitched tone drowning out the noise of conversation as he tries to make sense of the situation he’s in.

How did he even get to this point?  He traces back memory after memory, but nothing makes sense.  The pieces don’t fall into place, even as he finds each and every one to try and put it all together.  It’s like someone has sanded the edges down, or covered them in ice, so they slip and scrape against each other.  Pigsy stands still, and slowly swivels his head to glance at his family, Mei and MK and Tang, all situated at his counter, like they’ve always belonged.

He keeps reminding himself that it isn’t Tang, not really.  But is it so terrible to pretend?  When he’s already worse than he’s ever been?

“It was really special.  Right, Pigsy?” Tang turns to him with an expectant grin, and Pigsy flushes again, a color Tang once told him was a dusty rose.  

He doesn’t snap.  He bends, because when you bend, the cracks are slow to break.  And Pigsy has always taken things slow, hasn’t he?

“Right.” He steps forward, his hand beneath Tang’s chin.  Tang has always been the most handsome person Pigsy has ever seen, and how could that change, even with blue rims?

Tang’s lips brush against the side of his face, for the effect of MK and Mei’s groans, and Pigsy smiles.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang trusts Pigsy with his life

That goes without saying.  As he forgets what it feels like to move his fingers, as he forgets what taste is, he knows above all else that he can trust Pigsy with his life.  

After all, Pigsy is why he’s alive at all.  Anyone else would have buckled under the pressure by now, being the slave of the Baigujing.  Anyone else would have made a mistake that would have left Tang a bleeding corpse on the ground.

Pigsy shoulders on, regardless of everything, because he values Tang’s life above all else.  Tang knows this.  That’s why he trusts Pigsy.

But things are changing, just a little.  Pigsy’s desperation for something real, for Tang as he’s meant to be, is dying.  Somehow, she’s bewitched the love of his life into something that is becoming unrecognizable.  And Tang, though he is losing the memory of touch, of taste, of movement, finds this somehow more terrifying, more horrifying.  

To see Pigsy vanish, just as Tang did, with no one making him disappear but himself.

Pigsy leans into her false touches.  He melts into the kisses she forces upon him.  His resistance falls slow and Tang can do nothing but watch and wonder quietly, as numbness threatens to swallow him whole.

He trusts Pigsy with his life.

But he doesn’t know which life Pigsy is trying to save.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It keeps happening.

At night, when he gets moments of clarity, when he remembers how awful everything is, Tang will be there with honeyed words and precious touches to sweep Pigsy off of his feet and forget.  Pigsy will be horrified by the sight of death in one moment and locked in an embrace in the next, kissed with a passion he can’t help but return.

“You’re so strong,” Tang will say, with reverence to his tone.  “It’s incredible.”

Not Tang.

Pigsy will fight against the pride that comes from the compliment, then fail every time to stifle it.  Because he is strong, incredibly so, and he is powerful, and he can swipe through any demon with ease.

Nevermind the brothers, crying out for each other when he’d separated them, the way one had gone pale and quiet when the other went still, because they were a pair made one.  You can’t kill a pair at the same time, unfortunately.

Pigsy knows he should feel guilty, should fight more.  Knows that this isn’t right, it isn’t real.  It’s so easy to forget, though, so easy to cling to something good when everything else hurts.

It’s so easy to set aside the memories of how wrong it all is.  So easy to hide it all away, focus on the elation, the kind smiles, the gentle touches.  Tang washes blood off of Pigsy’s hands when they get home—it’s their home, how could he forget—and curls up with Pigsy in the night, holding him close, and Pigsy clings, because he needs this.  Needs something that makes him feel like things are okay.

The thoughts reminding him that this isn’t Tang start to slip through Pigsy’s fingers.  He finds himself relaxing around the shop, smiling when he sees Tang at his seat, squeezing back when Tang interlocks their fingers.

Why fight it?  Sometimes it hurts, and god does it, but there’s something so lovely about it now, everything he ever wanted with a price he’s fine paying.

When you take a pig out of its domestic environment, it easily turns wild.  Hair, tusks, a penchant for violence.  And Pigsy hasn’t been out of his domestic environment in years, but he’s a pig, in the end, lost in the wilderness of an icy forest and blue eyes.

“Hey, Pigsy?” MK’s voice comes from behind him.

Pigsy turns from his work to see his boy at the counter, wiping it down as he waits for orders to come in.

“What?” He glances between the pot and MK, deciding the pot will be fine for a few seconds.

“Are you doing okay?  You, uh, you’ve been kind of quiet,” MK rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly.

Pigsy opens his mouth and closes it.  He glances to the empty seat.  Tang’s empty seat.

He doesn’t actually know where Tang has gone, but it’s so rare for it to happen.  Pigsy tries to remember the last time Tang wasn’t in his spot during the day, but tracing memories that far back is like poking at the wreckage of a shattered pot; you’re bound to draw blood.

The tiny vestiges of resistance crawl from ash and leave burning fingerprints on the forefront of his mind.

Tell him, he hears himself think.  Tell him!  This is your chance!

But the truth is so, so painful, and Pigsy doesn’t have it in himself to shatter this equilibrium.  Isn’t it so much kinder to let it settle beneath the surface, to hide the pain and make it so no one knows at all?  He doesn’t want MK to look at him with horror and disgust.  He doesn’t want to have to try to fix something that might be broken beyond repair.

This is nice.  This is okay.  He’s happy like this.  Why ruin it?

He reaches over and ruffles MK’s hair.  MK playfully smacks his hands away, and Pigsy chuckles.

“It’s my job to worry about you, kid,” he tells him.  “I’m fine.  Orders will be out in a minute.”

He waves MK off, and goes back to cooking.

Tang appears a minute later, in his seat.

“Hey,” Pigsy hears, and he turns, leaning on the little divider between the kitchen and the dining area.

“Hey, yourself,” he replies, and Tang smiles and kisses him soundly.  Pigsy’s brain short circuits.

“What was that for?” He asks, something like incredulous elation in his voice as he laughs.

Tang’s face screams victory.  Pigsy wonders what he’s won.

“Oh, I just felt like it.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He supposes he has his answer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s finishing up another job at the end of the month when Tang claps his hands together.

“Well, I think that’s it,” he says and Pigsy freezes, realizing what may come.  “I don’t really have any other errands to run, and you’ve done your end of the bargain.  I’ll be out by morning.”

No, Tang can’t go, he can’t.  If Tang leaves, then what will Pigsy be?  He needs this.  Tang, Tang’s good for him.

He whirls around, and a hand reaches over to rest on Tang’s shoulder.  Tang.  Tang is good.

“I-wait-but,” Pigsy finds it so hard to articulate his thoughts nowadays.

He’s always been the muscle, Tang is the smart one.  Pigsy is good at doing, not talking.  He shouldn’t speak when everything comes out scrambled anyway.

“Use your words, now, dear,” Tang says, and Pigsy melts, like he always does.  How can he not, when Tang is looking at him like that?  Like Pigsy is his?

“I want to-you can stay-can you?  I need you to stay.  Please?”

Because Tang makes Pigsy feel whole, makes Pigsy feel loved.  He can do whatever Tang wants him to do, whatever Tang needs, Pigsy will make it happen.

Tang’s fingers trail down Pigsy’s face.  Pigsy leans into the touch, even though Tang’s fingers are cold.  Tang feels cold, but that’s okay.  Pigsy doesn’t mind.

“Oh, Pigsy,” and it’s Tang.  Pigsy searches for understanding, as a thumb brushes away his fears, soft.  Tang leans down until their eyes are level.  Pigsy finds familiarity in them, like he’s known them for an eternity.

His favorite color is the color of Tang’s eyes, blue with a hint of white, hard and cold.  

“All you had to do is ask,” Tang leans forward, and his lips brush against Pigsy’s, and Pigsy leans in.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When ice touches the ocean, there is no crash.  The ocean fights back against the shift in form at first, but eventually is quieted by the power ice wields.  The ice smothers, the ice settles on top as a slate, and the sea goes still, everything hidden beneath, never to reach the surface.

Tang watches, from the prison in his mind, and the cuffs  on his wrists are so much tighter.  He can't feel where the cuffs end and his arms begin. He can’t feel his hands. He can’t feel anything.  All he has left is his vision, which is more a cruelty than a blessing.

When ice meets the earth it fills in the crevices left by time and expands, cracking stones apart and leaving it crumbling in its wake.

Tang curls in on himself as she shows him a kiss he never got to give, as Pigsy leans in with no hesitation, lost in something Tang can’t save him from.  He curls away from the sight and tries to pretend that things can get better, that they can be saved, but he doesn’t know.  Not when it hurts this much.  Not when he’s lost this much.

Something like betrayal rests bitterly in his stomach.  Pigsy left him.  For an imitation, Pigsy left him, and Tang knows there’s more there, knows there has to be, has seen it unravel, but it doesn’t change the fact.  

Pigsy made his choice, and Tang is the one suffering the consequences.

Tang crumbles quietly.  He doesn’t even know, here, if he has eyes to cry from.  It feels like he’s crying.

It feels like he’s screaming. No one hears. Even him.

If the water is still, it does not crash against the earth.  There is no tide, and the earth remains unchanging.  Except, even without the waves, time erodes it all.

Tang has nothing but himself and time.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Silver Mist - part 3/3 - ao3  or tumblr pt 1, pt 2

warning: adult content, read the ao3 tags

Every enchantment had a weak point.

There was a reason there were more cultivators than foxes out there, why even the cleverest fox had to hide behind a human mask and pretend to some level of decency – why Nie Huaisang had been so careful with playing with his brother, his most favorite and most precious of people. There would come a time when he got weakened, or distracted, or something, and suddenly all his enchantments would slip through his fingers, breaking down, and he’d be left with nothing but what he earned fair and square.

(Nie Huaisang’s mother, the second Madame Nie, had disappeared right after he’d been born, and yet it was Nie Mingjue’s mother that everyone said went away, that everyone recalled leaving, not his – his mother was the one they all said had died.)

Nie Huaisang lived in fear of that moment.

When his brother burned his fans in a rage, he thought – this is it. He’s remembered.

He hates me now.

It was all so very frustrating, too, because he’d finally settled everything just the way he liked it: his da-ge in his life and in his bed, feeding him with his heart and body and happy to see him flourish. It was all he needed in life, just that and nothing more. Sure, Nie Huaisang loved the gifts his brother’s sworn brothers brought for him – he’d always been spoiled beyond belief, and never saw any reason to change. It was ironic, really, that it was Jin Guangyao’s gifts that his brother always found fault with, not Lan Xichen’s which were just as multitudinous, but perhaps it was because he needed to wheedle and whine and beg for gifts from Jin Guangyao.

With Lan Xichen, he just needed to smile.

(Lan Xichen was always weak to a smile. Back at the Cloud Recesses, during the war, his weak protests had died at once at the sight of a smug little curl of the lip as Nie Huaisang pressed him down and climbed on top of him –)

Lan Xichen’s ears didn’t turn red the way Lan Wangji’s did, nor did he duck his head and grin the way Wei Wuxian did, Nie Huaisang observed judiciously, but that didn’t mean he could hide his embarrassment at the very sight of Nie Huaisang, and that made it very easy indeed to talk him into buying Nie Huaisang all the gifts he could possibly want with barely any protest. Maybe a But your brother - that quickly cut off when Nie Huaisang pressed his fan to his lips, but nothing more, and then he’d go above and beyond to find an excuse to take Nie Huaisang shopping for anything that caught his eyes.

But Jin Guangyao…

Sometimes Nie Huaisang would swear that his san-ge gave him all those gifts in front of his da-ge on purpose, the sneaky little minx, even though he knew Nie Mingjue would only rage at him for it.

Nie Huaisang’s presents burned, and he shouted and screamed and fled and cried, and he waited in his da-ge’s bedroom shivering in fear but unwilling to back down. He was a Nie, after all, and being a fox didn’t make him any less that.

“Huaisang?” his brother said, coming in through the door.

He looked – tired.

Tired, not angry; his eyes were bloodshot and he appeared to be in pain – his da-ge, his brave and bold da-ge who feared nothing, in pain!

“Da-ge, what’s wrong?” Nie Huaisang said fitfully, deciding to ignore… everything, at least for the moment. “Why are you like this? What happened?”

“I don’t –” His brother rubbed at his face. “I don’t know. I – I got so angry –”

His nose was bleeding, Nie Huaisang noticed, and frowned. “Da-ge?”

Maybe this wasn’t about what he’d been doing at all.

“Da-ge, come here,” he said, and his brother came to him. “Lie down,” he said, and his brother obeyed, free and clear and of his own volition. “What’s wrong with you?”

“The saber spirit,” Nie Mingjue said dully, staring up at the ceiling. “I thought I’d have longer.”

Nie Mingjue had never explained the exact details of their family’s cultivation technique, only postponed discussing it, and so Nie Huaisang had known there was something wrong with it – his brother only ever shared good things with him, while shielding him from the bad. He’d taught him everything he could, omitting only the last few details, and thus it was in those details that the problem lay.

As if Nie Huaisang couldn’t guess, when every generation of his ancestors had died from a qi deviation.

He scowled.

“It can’t be,” he said, settling down next to his brother on the bed. “You haven’t even been cultivating it that much, recently. Not more than your usual training.”

“Maybe it’s the war?” his brother wondered aloud. “After-effects, only becoming apparent once my cultivation increased further –”

“But the recent increase in your cultivation isn’t even because of saber cultivation!” Nie Huaisang argued. “You’ve been helping me, instead; it’s completely different, a totally different approach. A problem with one method wouldn’t affect an increase in your cultivation through another.”

His brother frowned.

“Huaisang,” he said, his brow furrowing, his eyes clear and thinking – thinking and realizing. “Your new cultivation ‘technique’…”

…oops.

“It’s only because I love you so much, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said at once, immediately pulling himself up and over to straddle on Nie Mingjue’s lap. It gave him an unfortunate view into the expression of shock and no little bit of horror currently forming on his brother’s face, but he needed any advantage he could get – he wouldn’t be able to pull his brother into the trance state like this, not when he’d realized, not when he was fully sober. Nie Huaisang had gotten stronger since they’d started this, but not strong enough to beat his brother when his brother was trying. “Haven’t I been good to you? Don’t I show you how much I love you?”

“Huaisang! There are – you can’t – you’re not allowed to love me that much!”

“Why not?” Nie Huaisang said, and when his da-ge tried to sit up he put his hand on his chest and pushed him back down. Maybe it was the angle, maybe it was the surprise, maybe it was just that his brother wasn’t really trying, but he managed it, and immediately a short sharp shock went straight to his cock. “Why not? Who’s it hurting?”

“Who is it – me! You’re doing it to me!”

“And sometimes you do it to me, what’s your point?” Nie Huaisang said, breezing past the fact that his brother wasn’t referring to penetration at all. “If we keep it discreet, no one will learn from our bad example, and you weren’t really looking for a spouse anyway, were you? You always wanted to leave the sect to me. Why shouldn’t I have you? I want you.”

“Huaisang –”

Nie Huaisang ground his hips down and felt the answering twitch. “It’s too late, anyway,” he said, and his brother stared up at him. “Look at you. I’ve already ruined you – you’ve got my words in your brain, in your core. You’ve had my cock up your ass and you’ve loved it, you get hard just thinking about my cock in your mouth –”

“Because you put it in my head.”

“Just because I put it there doesn’t mean it’s not still there,” Nie Huaisang said, and leaned forward to press his lips to his brother’s neck. “It’s still in there, da-ge. And if it is, then what’s the point of not letting me have you? Haven’t I been taking good care of you, all this time? And look at where it’s gotten us: you sleep better, you eat better, you have the strength to train, I’m stronger than ever before… I’m a good didi, da-ge, I’m your good didi.”

His brother was weakening. Nie Huaisang could feel it in his heartbeat.

“You didn’t take advantage of me,” he whispered, intimate as the lover he had made himself into. “I took advantage of you. There’s nothing to be afraid of, nothing to be guilty for. The act’s already been done, plenty of times – the line’s been crossed, and there’s no going back. There’s only the way forward.”

“Huaisang…”

“Don’t I have your heart?” Nie Huaisang demanded. His fingernails were like claws where they dug into his brother’s chest as if to rip it out himself, his teeth like fangs filling his mouth; he didn’t know what his face looked like right now and he didn’t care. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted – a cultivator as righteous as his brother would be a prize for any fox, any yao, any creature bent against humanity, but all Nie Huaisang wanted was what his brother had always given him freely. “You love me, you love me. Give me your heart and I’ll be happy. Da-ge, I’ll be so happy, you don’t even know, it’s everything I’ve always wanted and more. You give me anything and everything, you always have. Give me this, too.”

“I can’t,” his brother whispered, and it was only I can’t because he couldn’t make it I won’t. “Huaisang…”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Nie Huaisang coaxed him. “I know you love me, and that’s enough. You don’t have to go against everything you are, da-ge, I’d never ask that of you. All I need you to do – the only thing you need to do – you know already, don’t you? You know what you need to do for me.”

Nie Mingjue did know.

All he had to do was let go, give in, and let the words already swirling beneath his skin come to the surface, sink willingly down into the quiet world where Nie Huaisang was master absolute, and Nie Huaisang would make sure that he never felt bad about any of it. Not ever again.

“Give me your heart,” Nie Huaisang said. “Please, da-ge.”

His da-ge’s heart, whole and entire with nothing held back, was the best thing he’d ever gotten.

-

The art of deception was misdirection.

Change one thing in a room at a time, and in time no one would notice that they were in a different room entirely. Set water simmering slowly, and the crabs would cook without ever thinking of escape. Dress up as a god and play the demon to confuse –

Nie Huaisang knew how to play with the hearts of men, for good or for evil, and in comparison their eyes were nothing much. A talisman for illusions, a mimicry of mannerisms – it was easy enough to pretend to be his brother, who was sleeping so sweetly in his bed. A deep sleep, a healing sleep; his poor brother’s meridians were all twisted up into something like a nightmare, but it wasn’t anything that they couldn’t straight out over time, together. All he needed was some sleep and some peace, and Nie Huaisang could give him both, so he did.

His brother had stirred briefly, hearing the siren call of duty, but Nie Huisang was a better siren by far. He promised him that it would be handled, and his brother trusted him to see it done – and he would.

No one knew that the Nie listening coldly to their requests wasn’t the right one.

Not even Jin Guangyao, who came with his head bowed and his demeanor meek, setting up his guqin to play music designed to provide clarity – he expected Nie Mingjue to be there, steady as a rock and just as unshakable, and so, to all appearances, he was. There was no reason to check any further.

He played.

Nie Huaisang listened, his eyes narrowing in a smile – oh, san-ge, he sighed. Oh, Meng Yao.

I always knew we were too much the same.

He did nothing, though, nothing but wait for the song to finish and Jin Guangyao to take his leave, bowing, and then he said, “Will you spend some time with Nie Huaisang today, before you return? He’s still upset from yesterday and not speaking to me.”

Why would he be speaking to his da-ge now? His brother was asleep, just as he ought to be, and speaking to him would only wake him.

Jin Guangyao had been expecting this, too. “Of course, da-ge,” he murmured, and Nie ‘Mingjue’ scowled, Nie Huisang scowled – no one who wanted to really hurt his brother deserved to use that term.

“Dismissed,” he said, and waited until Jin Guangyao left to remove the disguise, drifting out after him, calling, “San-ge!”

Jin Guangyao turned with a smile and Nie Huaisang threw himself forward, wrapping himself around his sworn brother-by-proxy’s dominant arm – he could use both, but he had a preference if you cared to look – and immediately burst out into chatter, complaints and stuff and nonsense, wailing on and on and on about how wronged he had been.

His voice modulated itself into a melody, the cadence quickening and slowing, rising and falling, infused with his own very special cultivation, and it wasn’t that much different from what it normally was – and Jin Guangyao wasn’t really listening to him anymore, anyway, not any more than it took to respond with a few hums of sympathy and the occasional word of consolation.  Why would he? The situation wasn’t anything different from normal, from the boring and mundane and uninteresting, what with there being complaining and whining and Nie Huaisang, a younger brother that he trusted, even if only to be a complete idiot. Absolutely harmless.

Jin Guangyao wasn’t the cultivation genius Nie Mingjue was, but he’d had a very long way to go to catch up; he wouldn’t have made it to where he was now if he hadn’t taught himself the habit of constantly cultivating, drawing in qi from the outside and channeling it inwards. He did so now, unconsciously, spreading the effect throughout his entire body, pulling him inch by inch into something nice and comfortable, pleasantly restful.

There was no need for schemes with Nie Huaisang, after all. He was so silly, so useless; he couldn’t even really be used, only indulged, like the little brother Meng Yao had never been able to afford to have growing up. Look at how dependent he was: scared to do anything else, wholly in the palm of his hand.  

There was nothing to fear.

There was only –

Listening.

Give me your heart.

[turtletimewriting]

Role Reversal

Summary: Janus finally gets his revenge after all these years.

Note: This is a tickle fic, who knew! You lot thought you had the last of me but here I am mwuahaha! Includes baby sides so purely platonic please! 

_._._

They had been sitting there awhile. No indication of any conversation or even acknowledgement. Just peaceful silence. Which is why the idea seemed to come from absolutely nowhere! Janus and Virgil were simply just sitting there. The only sound was the occasional huff of laughter from whatever Virgil had found on tumblr. Maybe it was due to the fact that Virgil was slouched across the sofa rather than tucked into a tight little ball as usual. 

Janus hid his crafty evil grin and feigned getting up and going to the kitchen. He stretched his arms above his head to make sure that Virgil saw he was getting up. He took one step forward... then another before pouncing. 

“Janus!” Was all Virgil had time to yell out before Janus quickly pushed up his hoody and burrowing into his stomach. “What are you doing!” 

“Oh, you don’t remember?” Janus laughed. He laid his legs out and made sure to lay his full weight against Virgil. His head now hidden underneath his hoody. One part of his logical adult brain groaned at how his hair was now ruined but he didn’t give that thought much attention.

“What?! No!” 

“Oh I remember horribly! An anxious but still hyper child I once knew would always... Always!” Janus paused dramatically but really it was hold in his laughter at how ridiculous he must look, “Always used to hide his face in my clothes. It could be the most neatly pressed shirt artfully tucked in but then along comes baby Virgil and he would then bury his head under my clothes, into my stomach!”

Virgil was now blushing furiously but he was stuck in place. “Oh come on!” He groaned but now the memories were flooding back. He probably started it out of some sad lonely reason but all he could remember is how much fun it was to hide in Janus’ clothes. Whether he was washing up, cooking, playing with Remus or sleeping, he’d stick his head under his clothes. Back then though he was only the height of Janus’ hip so he was just the perfect height. Now, Janus looked stupid laying down with the hoody straining under the size of his head. 

“But the worse part was...” Again, he paused and then took an exaggerated sigh, smiling wider once Virgil twitched violently, “It used to tickle soooo much!”

Now he tucked his arms in as well so his hands were grabbing Virgil’s waist. He snorted himself at Virgil’s now desperately pounding his back but they both knew he wasn’t coming out now. No way! 

“Your hair used to brush my sides and find it’s way, every time, into my belly button. Just like this!” Janus copied his words with his fingers. Now, Virgil was laughing with what sounded like a hand slapped against his face. Janus could practically feel his blush. His fingers skittered all over his stomach while another hand squeezed his sides. He made extra sure that he occasionally wildly wiggled his fingers into his belly button. 

Virgil laughed out and kicked his legs but it did nothing to stop the tickles. Not only was he being deliberately tickled but what Janus was saying was absolutely true. His own wild hair just faintly reached and tickled away high up his ribs. He tried to rip his hoody up to get him out but Janus quickly intercepted, pulling the hoody down over him. 

“Oh and then to make it worse! Whenever you were worried you would grasp at my sides. What do you think Virge? Do you think you could keep doing your daily tasks with me doing this? Huh?” Janus now only just squeezed his sides but he couldn’t resist adding in a few raspberries against his tummy. It was acting as his pillow! He needed to thank it with raspberries! 

“JAHAHAAHAHAAAAA AAAAH! JAY! AJAAJJAAHAHAHA AHAHAAAHA!” Virgil blushed harder as he could already tell what was going to happen. His laughter was running out and he had to breath. Which means only one thing... He tried to keep it in but before he knew it... The snort practically echoed around the room. 

“Oh, just so adorable! Just like when you were a baby! Oh, remember the time when you stuck your head under the shirt, as usual,  but Remus then tickled your tummy because he found it funny too!” Janus was now fully lost in the mixture of fun and nostalgia. 

“HEHEEHLP! HELP! HAHAHAAHAAH, snort, HAHAHAA! HE’S HAHA LOST ITHI HAHAHAHA!” Virgil cried out but they were both way too busy to notice Logan quietly taking a picture to send to Patton. There was no way that he was going to interrupt such an important family ritual by the sounds of it. 

“Well Virgil! Do you think you could do the washing up like this? Why don’t you try?” Janus smiled wider and braced his hands under Virgil’s armpits.

It was beyond awkward but that in of itself made Virgil keep gasping in laughter. His makeup was thoroughly ruined but now even he was having fun. It tickled like all hell but one part of him never wanted this to end. It wasn’t that often that he got to see this playful side to Janus. 

Janus was a taller than Virgil and so carefully lifted him but his head was now not really tucked in underneath the jumper but rather pushing up to his ribs. Virgil now cradled in his arms. “Oh now this is really like when you were a little wittle baby Virge!” Janus cooed and buried his nose and nuzzled against his belly button. Delighting in the snort it caused. “Come on, can you do the washing up!” 

“DAHAD! HAHAHAAHA, MEHEH MERCY!” Virgil cried out once he felt more tears droop run down his cheeks. 

Janus giggled and lowered Virgil to the floor, but not before pretending to drop him, like he used to. Virgil shoved him with his bright smile still shining and he sat back down to continue scrolling on his phone. But Janus made a quick retreat into his room. He was practically squealing at a title he had long thought he had lost. 

BONUS:

Janus bit down on his anticipatory smile once he saw Virgil plod round the corner. The boy was getting a little too big now, Remus’ hand me down clothes were actually starting to fit him. He kept his eyes trained on the glass he was slowly wiping but he heard the footsteps slow. He then felt a tiny frame fidget to in front of him. But he giggled a bit as he pressed harder into the sink to playfully squish him. If he left a little bit of room then that it must’ve been an accident. Of course. Next, he felt a fluffy head of untameable bed hair brush against his stomach. 

He was trying. He really was! But Virgil kept nuzzling the soft material of his shirt (which at this point was stretched out awkwardly from Virgil’s habit) and his hair just kept brushing left to right, left to right. Janus quickly stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop all the embarrassing high pitched giggles leaking through. It tickled an unfair amount! 

“You know, one day, when you’re bigger, I’m going to do this exact same thing to you,” Janus chuckled and Virgil giggled.

“You should! It’s fun!” 

[tsrookie]

Alright, so today’s the three-year anniversary of Reputation a.k.a the greatest album of all time, my baby, the light of my life, the album that deserved a Grammy (trying desperately not to think about the scene from Miss Americana😭), the album that introduced us to the most beautiful couple ever, the album that shut Kimye up, and I better stop now, or else I’m not gonna shut up.

So in honour of this momentous occasion (and the fact that I reached 200+ followers! Thank you so much you guys!🥺 Love you all 3000💙), here’s a loooooong post on why Reputation is the Ethan and MC album.

1. ...Ready For It?

No one has to know

Throwback to MC saying the exact same words back in Miami.

In the middle of the night, in my dreams

You should see the things we do, baby, mmm

In the middle of the night, in my dreams

I know I'm gonna be with you

So I take my time

Remember back when MC asked for Ethan to get into bed right away during their first time? Ethan told them that he had dreamt about the moment for months, so he wasn’t going to rush it.

2. End Game

Big reputation, big reputation

Ooh you and me would be a big conversation

These two dating would be the talk of the hospital, and they know it.

Even when we'd argue, we don't do it for long

And you understand the good and bad, end up in the song

For all your beautiful traits, and the way you do it with ease

For all my flaws, paranoia, and insecurities

Think these lines are pretty self-explanatory😌

I hit you like bang

We tried to forget it, but we just couldn't

*gets war flashbacks of the ‘reset’ phase*😭 They tried to make it work, but we all know how Ch 8 of book 2 went😌

I swear I don't love the drama, it loves me

Perfect for our chaotic MC😌

3. Don’t Blame Me

Do I... really have to explain this one?

For you, I would cross the line

I would waste my time

I would lose my mind

They say she's gone too far this time

Do we need a recap of our rule-breaking MC?

And baby, for you, I would fall from grace

Just to touch your face

If you walk away

I'd beg you on my knees to stay

He was willing to risk his (mostly) rule-abiding reputation for being with MC. And there’s no way he wouldn’t beg for MC not to leave him if he ever screwed up🤷‍♀️

4. Delicate

This ain't for the best

My reputation's never been worse, so

You must like me for me

Ethan stood by MC’s side throughout the Ethics hearing, when her reputation was completely smeared, and people only saw her as a patient murderer. He didn’t know about the sabotages, but he would’ve definitely supported her if he had known.

We can't make

Any promises now, can we, babe?

Commitment-phobia🙃

Sometimes I wonder when you sleep

Are you ever dreaming of me?

Sometimes when I look into your eyes

I pretend you're mine, all the damn time

They spent so much of time apart, not able to be with each other, so the least they could do was dream of being with each other all the time.

5. So It Goes (an underrated af bop)

What can I say... it’s a sex song, okay? Don’t make me go into the details😂 Just listen to the lyrics, and all will be clear.

6. Gorgeous (Tumblr won’t let me put any more links)

MC’s eternal anthem to Ethan.

Whisky on ice, Sunset and Vine

You've ruined my life, by not being mine

We all know Ethan loves Whiskey, and the second line? C’mon!

You're so gorgeous

I can't say anything to your face

'Cause look at your face

And I'm so furious

At you for making me feel this way

But, what can I say?

You're gorgeous

Ethan Ramsey is famous for two reasons. One: his smart brain, I guess😒 Two: HIS LOOKS!!! HE’S GORGEOUS, AND DON’T DENY IT.

And you should think about the consequence

Of you touching my hand in the darkened room (dark room, dark room)

Ah, the olden days of hand holding in the diagnostics office🥺

Ocean blue eyes looking in mine

I feel like I might sink and drown and die

No explanation required.

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah

There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have

You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad

The wonderful will-they-won’t-they saga. The frustrating hot-and-cold behaviour. The ‘We can’t’, ‘It’s unethical’ and ‘It’s complicated’. MC deserves an award for her patience😓

7. King Of My Heart

I'm perfectly fine, I live on my own

I made up on my mind, I'm better off bein' alone

Ethan ‘I don’t believe in soulmates and nobody’s waiting at home’ Ramsey.

And all at once, you are the one I have been waiting for

King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa

And all at once, you are all I want, I'll never let you go

King of my heart, body and soul, ooh whoa

This could be from both Ethan and MC’s perspectives. The love they share isn’t something that you get easily. It’s something that MC has waited for her whole life, and something Ethan never knew he needed, but now can’t live without🥺

Late in the night, the city's asleep

Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep

Change my priorities

The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury

This was definitely Ethan throughout book 2, after he finally gave in. He let go of his previous rules and regulations, especially during the time of the attack. He was clearly affected, and once MC was alright, his main priority was her, and her alone.

Is the end of all the endings?

My broken bones are mending

With all these nights we're spending

Ethan’s been burnt a lot in the past. But all those wounds are now healing thanks to MC.

Up on the roof with a school girl crush

Drinking beer out of plastic cups

They act like lovesick teenagers around each other, like, that’s literally their description if you choose to kiss Ethan for the first time in Chapter 14 of book 2!😅

Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff

Baby, all at once, this is enough

We all know about his initial fear of his mother reaching out to him for the sake of his money. To him, MC not talking advantage of him is a pretty big deal, even though it’s never mentioned. You just know, you know?🥺

8. Dancing With Our Hands Tied

My, my love had been frozen

Deep blue, but you painted me golden

Again, Ethan doesn’t have the best experience with love. But MC changed that.

I'm a mess, but I'm the mess that you wanted

This could go both ways, cause they’re both piping hot messes😬 (but love each other anyway🥺)

The rest of this song could have made so much more sense for them if we had gotten some sort of a secret relationship storyline. But oh well, I’m definitely not complaining about the gala😌 (and definitely not believing any of the supposed cancelled storylines)

9. Dress

Our secret moments

In a crowded room

They got no idea

About me and you

I mean... pretty obvious😌

Even in my worst times, you could see the best of me

And I woke up just in time

Now I wake up by your side

My one and only, my lifeline

This is practically Ethan’s train of thought, and you can’t convince me otherwise.

As for the rest of the steamier lyrics... I’ll um... let you guys listen to it yourselves😁

10. Call It What You Want

I wrote an entire fic inspired by this song, so excuse me for the shameless self-promo, but go give it a read?🥺👉👈(totally fine if you don’t! I’ve probably made so many posts about this song that y’all know the meaning anyway😅)

11. New Years Day

Don't read the last page

But I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you're turning away

I want your midnights

But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

MC has always stayed by Ethan’s side, even when he’s pushed her away. These lines perfectly explain how she wants his worst times, and his best, the midnights they spend staying up together, and the moments where it’s just the two of them, when everyone else has left, like the aftermath of a New Years party (still mad at the fact that we didn’t get to see the gang celebrate New Year together😭)

I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe

Or if you strike out and you're crawling home

The above explanation for these lines as well.

Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere

Becoming strangers to each other would be their worst nightmares. Knowing that the other was out there in the world somewhere, but not being in their lives would kill them.

You and me forevermore

These two are each other’s soulmate, they know it, even if they haven’t said it yet. Forever wouldn’t be enough for them to shower each other with they love they hold for each other. But it’s a good start.

——————————

If you guys made it this far, then I honestly love you more than words can ever express🥺💙 Thanks for putting up with my Swiftie-Directioner-Ethan stan ass, cause I dunno if I’d ever be able to handle someone like myself. And if you read all the above stuff, then I hope you wanna know why this album means so much to me.

Reputation is perceived as a dark album, when in reality it’s truly about finding love amongst all the noise. This album, and Taylor and Joe’s story, taught me what true love actually is, and Ethan and MC cemented that. This album and these two couples (quite literally) saved my life.

The most beautiful part about both these relationships is that even though they never showed it openly, for the sake of their relationships, both Ethan(in the story) and Joe stood by the side of the one’s they loved, despite half of the people who they knew hating on them, or betraying them. And I think that’s what’s truly important. Forming a true relationship like that, be it platonic or romantic, is long lasting, and I hope everyone finds those kind of people to fill their hearts with. Sending much love, and sorry for being a huge sap😅💙

Tagging a couple of my Swiftie homies: @swiftlydarcy @nikki-2406 @dxnicaramsey @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @drariellevalentine @justanotherrookie

[nemo-draco]

The First Step

Hi all! Bit of a crossover piece here, courtesy of some amazing art on behalf of @rose-junk-junky on Tumblr, and @a-rae-of-sunshine, whose characters feature here along with my own. Long story short, saw some amazing animatics and art with Rae's characters in a Frankenstein-like scenario, and my guys jumped in with a cry of 'new friend!'.

To read off our cast, Whimsy, Fancy, and Whimsy's 'creator' (this AU's version of the Mayor of Burnsville) are the characters of a-rae-of-sunshine. The AU itself was thought up by rose-junk-junky, who I also have to thank for showing the Frankenstein Musical album in the animatics. All the rest are mine.

Hope you enjoy!

A First Step:

"If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundredfold; for that one creature's sake I would make peace with the whole kind!" Adam Frankenstein, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Their dreams were racing, blurred things, fraught with frantic energy and a sinking sense of wrongness that made them feel sick to their stomach. It was like they were stuck on a top, whirling from images of crackling electricity, to fire, to the ripping of stitches, to the sounds of people screaming in both anger and fear. But rising above it all was that one face, that one person, who's attention they had coveted the most, and the one they hated all the more for what HE'D DONE TO THEM-

"I should never have given you breath…"

-Awakening in a dark room, empty, filled with books and beakers, devoid of anyone-

"You're a beast to be feared…"

-Wandering in the wilderness, cold and alone, seeing others but always being met with screams and vitriol-

"By heaven we'll drag you…"

-The brief respite of the blind woman and her company, ruined when the others came and saw-

"And haunt you…"

-Fire leaping, climbing higher and higher, growing out of control-

"And banish your soul…"

-His face, their own creator, staring at them with such revulsion and hatred-

"From this earth!"

The nightmare went from formless to something concrete, Whimsy all but slamming down into their own body just in time to feel a rope slip around their neck. Immediately it tightened, yanking the reanimated faerie towards…

…A creaky, rickety platform of wood. One that somehow filled them with more dread and fear than they'd ever thought possible. The fear became something real, forming fire that leapt around the construct like it was some specter summoned up from Hell. A shadowy crowd appeared in the billows of smoke, voices like howling wolves as they screamed.

"Kill it!"

"It's a demon, a monster!"

"Be rid of the awful thing!"

They spun, pulled, tried everything they could to get away from the noose's pull, even slipping their fingers around the rope to try to yank it off, but nothing worked. And worse still, a numbness was seeping into their body, starting from their feet and working its way up to their ankles.

A face in the crowd leapt out to them, their eyes widening as they recognized their creator standing among the throng. Before they could even think, or read into the neutral, blank expression on their maker's face, they cried out like a drowning man casting about for a lifeline.

"Help me! Help me, please!"

Their legs grew stiff and cold, only weighing them down as they struggled to escape the noose, the fire, the awful drop...

"I'm alive!" They screamed, eyes tearing as they sought out their creator's emotionless stare, as cold as the deadening sensation creeping up their body. They were being pulled up the stairs, up to the gallows...

But somehow, even over all the screaming, the jeers, the fire, and the creaking pull of the hangman's rope, they could hear their creator whisper as though he were right next to them.

"No, you aren't."

"You made me!" Whimsy cried, feeling a slight give in the boards under their feet, hinting at the presence of a trapdoor. The fire climbed, the crowd howled for their death, the feeling of the end pulling their hands away from the lethally light weight of the noose. "YOU MADE ME!"

But with no inflection, no emotion, came the cold response.

"I reject you."

And with a snap, then came the short drop...

...And the sudden stop as their body thudded against the floor, thankfully a carpeted one that masked the noise.

Not that Whimsy, for the moment, had much mind to be thankful.

For the time being, their mind was frozen, limbs shakily drawing in to curl out of some instinctive reaction as they tried to figure out whether or not they were once again dead.

The feeling of their heart galloping in their chest, as well as the frantic gasping rushing in and out of their clenched teeth, contradicted that idea. Well, that and a slight sting radiating through their hip given that had smacked into the floor before the rest of them.

Sitting gingerly up and untangling themselves with a trembling set of arms, Whimsy sat in the dark for a spell, before deciding that this wasn't helping and stumbling to their feet. Their hands only shook a little as they found the doorknob, though as they stepped out into the hall the faintly cooler temperature jolted them to something that felt a little more in control...and drew their eye down to a plate that had been left next to their door. A quick sniff brought the scents of beef, some kind of vegetables, maybe bread? All of it was a little dulled though, the plate itself cool to the touch. This had been left a while ago, that was for sure...

It made them realize that they weren't even fully aware of what time it was. The most they could say was 'night' but the house around them was dead silent. Everyone else must already be in bed.

The notion was surprisingly relieving, Whimsy picking up the plate and deciding to head downstairs. Even the faintly chilled food was somewhat appetizing, especially since this would be the first time they'd eaten all day. Or…night? Whenever.

Despite their height, the reanimated (corpse) faerie was able to move stealthily down the hallway, to the stairs leading down to the larger part of the house. The…guy, Cab, who had brought them here had said that it was an old firehouse. When they'd gotten it set up, they'd moved the pole, somehow got a spiral staircase, and made the whole downstairs open to co-join the garage with the rest of the first floor, barring a little section for a bathroom and closet. That was a design choice that Whimsy'd been a little confused by, Cab's words that it was for 'Bee's benefit not really helping to illuminate much.

At least, not until the car sitting in the garage space started talking, during which that little mystery was cleared up in short order.

Whimsy had just come down the stairs when a faint noise caught their attention, their head jerking in the direction it had come from to see a very small figure sitting at the table. The most eye-grabbing feature was a small streak of silver running through a head of otherwise black hair, a tired shadow in the tailor's face despite the brief flash of nerves at the sight of the towering, stitched-together faerie (reanimated corpse). The pair stared at each other, Whimsy belatedly remembering that this was the person who owned this house, what had Cab called him again?

Either way, they couldn't exactly ask with their mouth full, so they made an effort to swallow a rather large mouthful of chilled beef and bread. He ended up beating them to actually talking though, voice quiet with an attempt at nonchalance.

"Glad to see you liked the food. We did have dinner a while ago, but you were asleep. We didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks," Whimsy muttered, once their mouth was free to reply, though they realized that they didn't really have anything to add or say. Funnily enough, Fancy seemed to have the same issue too, drumming his fingers on the table for an instant as his eyes cast around before lighting on the softly steaming mug in front of him.

"Do, you want some tea?"

Tea. Whimsy had a vague memory of it from when they'd spoken to the blind woman. A bit bitter, but warm. And, if something were to go wrong, then they could just leave, right?

So, even with the mistrust nudging at the back of their mind, Whimsy edged cautiously forward, carefully watching for some sign of underhanded play. It was a nervousness that was echoed a little in the tailor, Fancy looking up to meet Whimsy's eyes and, consciously or not, huddling down a bit like a fox that had come too close to a bear.

The faerie themselves edged quietly into the seat, nearly approaching calm before a metallic, humming voice spoke up from behind them.

"'Ey Whims."

Oh, right, and the car, the thought of which immediately had Whimsy changing seats to keep both Fancy and 'Bee' within view (and noticing with a silent shiver of bracing tension that the sleek, not all together large but still not small black car had rolled closer). Not that Bee himself seemed to take much offense, given his next, calm words.

"Thanks for switchin', by the way. Easier to talk when I'm not hollering over someone. Guess it's the exterior, dunno. Not many people expect the car to hold a conversation." Despite the easy tone, Whimsy couldn't feel relaxed, like there was a trap somewhere that they needed to keep an eye out for. They might not have been run out on a rail yet but it had barely been twenty four hours.

"People…ignore you?" Whimsy still asked, faintly piqued by the implication. Though they really couldn't guess what was worse, to be shunned or ignored. A faintly vindictive part of them hissed that to be shunned was worse, an ignored person could at least live among other people.

"Eh, sometimes. Though bein' innocuous enough to escape notice does have its perks. It's how I was designed after all."

Immediately Whimsy's brain got stuck on that last bit, to the point where they couldn't help asking.

"…Designed?"

"Originally I was made to be what you'd call a 'cursed object'. Maker just decided to be more ambitious and cursed a car rather than something like a toaster or doll or whatever. Demonically-charged rituals can be a mite bit unpredictable, apparently, 'cause I ended up with enough 'me' to say I liked the guy I was supposed to be causing trouble for a lot better. 'Course I couldn't stay when I kinda revealed I was alive, but, y'know, nice while it lasted."

"We're glad to have you either way, Bee." Fancy spoke up, it just striking Whimsy then and there that the tailor didn't seem surprised by any of what Bee had just said. Granted that could make sense, considering they had known each other longer. Things like this had probably come up before. It definitely seemed like it considering that Bee's tone was casual, even wistful in some spots, when talking about this person that he'd supposedly been sent to cause trouble for.

"Same. Great to be in a house where I can actually talk to people."

It was almost relieving for Whimsy to drop into the role of a spectator, but inevitably, the talk had to turn back to the last conversation partner that was sitting at the table.

"So, Whimsy, were exactly have you been? Thought I knew all the myths around here. Granted, most of them live in this house, but, well…" Though Bee trailed off, and certainly didn't sound like he was anything but calm and faintly curious, Whimsy couldn't help but feel the edge of an interrogation in the words.

"I, I've been…traveling…" Even to their ears, it sounded incredibly feeble. But they didn't know what else to add so they stayed quiet. At least, what they could say without getting into some worrying territory.

"Blew in from outta town?"

"Yeah." The faint grumble from the reanimated faerie completely contradicted the easier, flowing tone that the car employed, Whimsy remembering what they'd just learned about Bee and feeling…a sort of discomfort. Bee had sounded like he'd at least known something about what they went through, at least on some level, how on earth could he sound so put together? So calm?

It wasn't fair.

"What made you decide to come here? It's not exactly a prime tourist spot."

"…I wanted to meet someone."

"This a myth or a person?"

"Person. Didn't work out." To put it mildly, their memory flashing to a twisted, destroyed frame hidden partially under a sheet, sightless eyes staring up at them as that voice screamed about how they would not be tricked or cowed by a demon, a shambling wreck of a faerie-

"Sorry to hear that."

Whimsy didn't have an answer, and looked down as Fancy came back with a mug of tea. It was too hot to drink, but the warmth from the mug was more than enough to create a comfortable heat, soaking into their hands and driving the memories away. At least for the time being.

"Do you have anywhere else to go? I know Cab's probably said you could stay, but… do you have someone that might be waiting for you?" Bee asked, the somewhat quieter, hesitant tone a definite tell that this was a question that the car was aware might be difficult.

"…No."

Alone. All alone. Anything they might've had gone in a blaze of fire and all because of some bad timing. Anything they could have had gone because of a selfish, stupid creator that only cared that they'd taken their first breath, and not any of what came after.

A flash of pain went through Whimsy's temple, causing a wince that had them bringing their hand up before they realized what they were doing.

"You alright?"

"Fine."

The sound of something rustling off to the side caught Whimsy's attention, the reanimated faerie nearly jumping out of their stitched skin as they looked in the direction of the noise, only to see Fancy having reached to the center of the table for a napkin. The sudden movement on their part made the tailor jump too, though something in Whimsy's face seemed to catch his attention.

"Whimsy?"

They weren't fine. This wasn't fine. They felt horribly off kilter and the questions and constant presence of people were starting to take their toll. If it was just Bee, or just Fancy, Whimsy felt like they could have handled it better. But the fact that there were two relatively sharp individuals here, moving around and poking at them, stoked their nerves. Even though they knew that there was no immediate danger, that no one had lit fires or gathered up weapons, a part of them was consistently on edge, looking for some sign of trouble.

And they didn't want to! It was making their jaw clench, their head zinging with overstressed aches and pains. They were jumping at shadows and it made it hard to concentrate.

They knew that the full answers would only provoke suspicion, and perhaps an eviction. It wasn't like they'd told everything to anyone here. Though, the memory of the blind woman, and the distinct difference in how that had felt versus this, tugged at Whimsy, making them wonder both just what had changed in them to create such a feral anxiety, and also knowing exactly why.

How long before this ended too…

Another faint pain twanged at the muscles in their temple as a result, the feeling making Whimsy wince and murmur to themselves as they tried to knead the sensation out.

"What's, what's wrong with me...?"

There was a pause, Fancy seeming to shore up his nerve before taking a seat next to the steadily devolving faerie, a hand tentatively resting on their arm.

"I think, that there's a lot you're grappling with, and you need some time to process it all. I could be wrong about this, but it doesn't seem like you've really had anyone before Cab brought you here, and part of that might be due to your appearance. Which, isn't fair to you, you can't control that sort of thing, not completely. I would say it's normal, even expected, for you to feel angry, to feel hurt, and... perhaps even a little afraid."

The notion that they were, or had ever been afraid caused Whimsy to recoil, turning a hard look Fancy's way as the tailor jumped and also withdrew, his face a mask of tension. Bee too remained quiet, though Whimsy could just faintly hear the noise of his tires rolling closer by a half-inch. The standoff lasted for all of a few moments, before Whimsy remembered that Fancy did not have to let them stay in his house. Besides, he had drawn off, and didn't look ready to try touching the reanimated faerie again.

So, Whimsy let him be, and turned back to stare into their tea.

But the sight of their own reflection merely stirred those thoughts up again, the defiant bark of why would I be afraid answered with a smaller, insidious whisper of because your existence is singular, and you will always be alone. You don't even like the sight of yourself in the mirror, remember? Your creator wanted nothing to do with you, you were a mistake from beginning to end...

And when death finally claims you, who will even bother to mourn?

A small droplet of water splashed into the tea from above, Whimsy's grip on the mug handle so tight it was quivering.

"Whimsy...?" Fancy's voice came from the side, still worried sounding but there was a new edge of care to it that still felt so alien for Whimsy to hear directed at themselves.

"Oh geez…" Bee's voice murmured, with the same sort of softer, concerned tones.

"Damn that stupid, selfish..."

It was quick, a hissed few words on Fancy's part, but Whimsy had heard them clear as a bell.

They weren't able to move, much less address those words, and Fancy didn't acknowledge them either. Instead, he rested his hand atop their arm again and continued to speak.

"Whimsy, I need you to take deep breaths, just a few. Can you do that for me?"

They tried, but what came out were hisses that turned into gasps that felt like far too much effort for the simple act of breathing.

"Alright, that's a good start. Now I want you to try breathing in through your nose, and out through your mouth, Whimsy. It'll help you feel better, I promise."

Though there was that instinctive nugget of mistrust, there was also the part of Whimsy that was starting to believe that they were being smothered somehow, and the way Fancy had spoken before tipped the scales in favor of trusting the little tailor.

And, in spite of everything, the advice was helping. Whimsy found air coming easier and easier after a moment or two. But the whole experience had left them winded and exhausted, which made it a little difficult to hear what Fancy asked at first.

"How are you feeling?"

"I," Whimsy started, swallowing around a dry throat. "I feel…"

It took a moment to really parse through their physical symptoms, though eventually words came to describe the strange mix of light-headed and completely worn out.

"Dizzy. Air, I need, outside…"

"It's alright, there's a window next to you, I'll open it. Just stay sitting down, please. I don't think I could carry you if you fall."

Whimsy glanced to the side as Fancy moved to the window in question, getting it open with only a small bit of effort. The rush of cool air was a balm, Whimsy turning in the direction and leaning as much on the chair as their towering frame would allow.

"Just take deep breaths, it'll pass." Fancy's voice came, the faerie's eyes fluttering open for a moment and locking straight on the tailor's gaze. There was a slight flinch that went through Fancy as their eyes met, Whimsy frowning and looking away first.

Something in their face must've leaked to Fancy, because he spoke up again.

"Do you, want to try drinking some more of your tea?"

With nothing else to do, Whimsy did take a sip, the lukewarm liquid still having a soothing edge to it. There wasn't much left, but the whole episode had taken a lot out of the reanimated faerie, leaving them rubbing at their eyes and blinking blearily as they set the mug down.

That eventually turned into them letting their head rest on their folded arms, though they still tried to remain turned towards the window. It was later in the year, but the faint chirping of crickets was still prevalent over the dark nightscape outside. The sound was a calming, and vaguely relieving one, reminding the faerie of those times when they'd lived off the land and spent long nights under the stars.

Before they realized how…different they were. It was definitely an easier time.

They must've dozed off at some point, because a new voice speaking up brought them back to reality.

"Aww, lookit that. All tuckered out."

It was a voice they only somewhat remembered, given that the person in question had been present when they had been brought in to be introduced. A concealingly-dressed figure that had been quietly leaning back in his chair, looking them up and down with a set of luminously colored eyes that flickered through bright, sharp hues. Everything about this otherwise gray shape was nonchalant, from the way their frame settled to the way a similarly colored smile flickered into being over the wrapping covering the lower half of the face, there and gone. After everything Whimsy had been through, it was a different way to be greeted, and they still weren't sure if that was a good thing.

So, carefully, they opened their eyes and turned their head in the direction of the voice, and immediately caught sight of the same figure simply lounging in the chair next to them, even going so far as to tilt it onto its back legs.

"Tagger, please don't break the chairs." Fancy's voice came, the tailor gathering up the mugs before stepping away.

"Alright, alright. No fun," 'Tagger' replied, and performed the somewhat odd feat of dropping the chair back on all four legs with barely any noise. Though, as it landed, those oddly-colored eyes happened to see Whimsy's, and immediately there was a flicker of that smile again.

"Oop, guess somebody is awake. Hey, Whims. Think maybe you wanna catch some 'z's in your own bed?"

On some level, that should have been a good idea, though there was a part of Whimsy that definitely remembered why they'd come down to the kitchen to begin with, and therefore was not so ready to just head up to lie in bed, jumping at more shadows and quite possibly have more nightmares. So, instead of acquiescing, they settled in and closed their eyes, turning their head away.

"No, good here."

"But, you're gonna go back to sleep." Tagger pointed out.

"Maybe I will," Whimsy growled back, still refusing to open their eyes.

"Inna chair."

The rather frank observation did get a more venomous look from the faerie, though Tagger didn't look the least bit worried by the much taller Whimsy staring him down. It was such a strange switch to what would usually happen that they honestly weren't sure what to do, so they ended up breaking off the impromptu contest first to stubbornly shut their eyes, huddling in their arms like it was some sort of impregnable fortress.

And they knew exactly what Tagger thought of that given that the sound of him chuckling to himself wasn't long in following.

"Oh, you are just a treat, aren't you? Can see why Cab liked you."

Cab being the one that had brought them here, that had opened the door to his home. Admittedly, he'd neglected to mention the presence of folks like Tagger, or Bee, but he did mention the fact that he knew two faeries. They'd already made the decision, but it definitely helped things along. Still didn't endear them much to Tagger right now though.

"Bit of a backstory moment here, Whims. I was the first."

"…What?" The reanimated faerie couldn't help asking, their gaze turning back to Tagger just to see if they could spot some falsehood. A bit hard with a mostly concealed face, but for the most part it looked like he was telling the truth.

"The first one Cab made friends with. The very first. We've been paling around together for years! Think after that it was Patches, then we found Bee, then Sunny, and finally Manny. Oh, and then Fancy." Tagger elaborated, just as the tailor walked by and glanced over with a fondly sardonic look.

"Thanks for remembering."

"Welcome. Anyway. Guess we can add you to the list. That's if you plan on sticking around, a'course." Whimsy honestly wasn't sure if the implication that they would just up and leave was insulting or not, and ended up giving off at least half a surly glare which was probably why Tagger continued. "Well, you don't gotta make a decision just yet. It's only your first night. Plenty'a time if you decide you're sick of us an' wanna split."

Yeah, that language really wasn't helping, Whimsy's stare towards Tagger turning a touch more spiteful. Though, instead of being bothered by that, he gave a theatric shiver before slipping back into his seemingly normal, at ease persona.

"Yeesh, if looks could kill… Tone down the eyeballs kid, it's casual conversation." Then a brief flicker of that same, glaringly colored smile appeared over the wrappings covering Tagger's mouth, further conveying the mischievous smirk in his following words. "Though I guess someone does need to go back to bed. A certain grumpy someone."

And back to this again, Whimsy growing fed up enough with the whole encounter to just resettle their head on their arms and close their eyes. Though, in doing so, they completely missed the somewhat conspiratorial, and equally impish grin that Tagger flashed to both Fancy and Bee.

It made the feeling of being swept up into a pair of arms all the more jarring, Whimsy left blinking as Tagger arranged the reanimated faerie in a bridal style carry and spun on his heel for the stairs.

"H-Hey! What're you-?!"

"Wouldn't squirm too much, Whims, the staircase is only so wide."

A very good point, and while Tagger was apparently strong enough to carry someone that definitely was a good few inches taller that didn't mean that the stairs were necessarily going to alter their proportions to make it easier.

So, out of a perceived sense of self-preservation, they scrunched in their towering frame as much as possible, warily eyeing the metallic edges as Tagger easily ascended. After what felt like a harrowing few minutes, they both made it to the upstairs hall, though to Whimsy's surprise and more-than-slight annoyance, Tagger kept going until he was standing next to the door of their room.

"…You can put me down now."

"Whatever you say, Whims," Tagger replied with shadows of that same amused chuckling, to the point where Whimsy had the honest impulse to just scramble away and figure things out from there. Tagger's approach to them may have been novel, but the novelty was quickly turning sour. They weren't a child!

Still, Tagger was both deft and careful, setting them down on their feet and heading past them to a door down at the furthest end of the hallway.

"Night, Whims. See you in the morning."

And he was gone, leaving Whimsy standing like a silent sentinel in the hall. With nothing better to do, they went back into their room, quietly clambering onto the bed and staring at the night sky they could see from their window. The sight brought to mind the window downstairs, from which those familiar sounds had emanated that had provided a brief spark of respite.

Whimsy got up to crack the window open, sliding under their covers and looking in the direction of the small square that looked out to the outside world. The sound of crickets and the rush of wind through the trees accompanied them as the world grayed out, and they slid into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

A knock at the door snapped Whimsy awake, though it only felt like they'd just closed their eyes. Blinking bemusedly, they stared in the direction of the window, seeing a blue sky and trees losing their red and yellow leaves, not quite sure what was going on before the knocking came again.

Yeah, they…probably should answer that, shouldn't they? The thought of which was what teased them up, causing Whimsy to reel to their feet and plod around their bed for the door.

A familiar face was there, a more unique set of features given the black and white, checkerboard-like pattern that was stamped into the other person's skin. Cab was wearing the same primarily white pinstriped suit as yesterday, a not-totally open grin on his face that somewhat disguised his teeth, which Whimsy couldn't help noticing yesterday given that they'd resembled the sharper ones in their own mouth. Cab was tall, lean, though even a six-foot-tall frame didn't have much when compared to Whimsy's eight feet in height, and therefore he'd had to crane his neckless head back a little to look them in the eye, reaching up to hold his boater hat on his head.

Not that Cab seemed to mind, an ever-present grin on his face that sharply contrasted Whimsy's barely awake stare.

"'Ey Whims! Sorry for wakin' you up, but I figured you'd wanna get some breakfast. Ever had pancakes before?"

It took their wakening brain a few moments to figure out, firstly, what had been asked, and secondly, that no. Pancakes were a somewhat foreign concept.

"It's a food…right?"

"Yep, it's a food, a breakfast food. Wanna come down an' try some?"

Their curiosity had been piqued, so they did say yes and made to follow Cab. Whimsy found themselves waking up a little bit more, enough that they couldn't help noticing the confused look Cab passed them just before making it to the stairs.

"…What's wrong?"

"Nothin', nothin', it's just…did you sleep in your overalls?"

Were they being insulted? It was a little hard to tell, though from what they saw Cab wasn't the sort to just poke a beehive just for the sake of it. But, if it was sincere then what was even the point of the question?

"…Yes?"

"We could try givin' you some pajamas if you like."

"What are… pa-jamas? Is that even a word?"

"It is too a word! They're clothes you wear when you're sleepin'."

"People wear special clothes just for when they sleep?"

"Well, yeah, they're meant t'be comfier. Fancy could make you some if you like!" Cab's offer was nice, though Whimsy was decently sure that if they tried to go to the tailor to ask for anything they might end up giving the poor guy a heart attack. Hopefully, they thought as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, Cab wouldn't bring it up with Fancy because they sure weren't about to.

"What're we talkin' about Fancy makin'?" The sudden presence of Tagger's voice made Whimsy jump, head swinging around to see the whatever-he-was in question leaning on the railing like he might as well have been there all along. Even though Whimsy knew he hadn't been just a moment ago.

"Hi, Tagger! We're talkin' about pajamas! Fancy could make Whimsy some!" Cab replied, as though the sudden appearance just didn't bother him.

"Oh, are we?" Tagger's reply had Whimsy preparing for more demeaning mockery, though they were somewhat thrown when Tagger instead looked them up and down before coming to a decision.

"Green or red. Maybe blue. But not light, definitely darker colors."

"You think so?" Cab's frank question was also somewhat disarming, to the point where Whimsy finally had enough and decided to break in.

"Wait, wait, what are you talking about?"

"If you were gonna get new clothes, those colors would probably look the best on you. Your fur's darker, so lighter stuff would just clash. And make you look pale. Paler. You get what I mean."

"Tagger's an artist!" Cab jumped in, the 'artist' in question looking more flippant.

"You can see my work around town sometimes. Usually at night. I've, ah, 'tagged' a lot of buildings." Tagger's expression clearly hinted at a joke, though as to what the actual joke was, Whimsy couldn't help not knowing. And Tagger didn't seem too primed to explain, muttering about how 'it didn't land' and turning away, heading out to the kitchen.

The kitchen at which Fancy was quietly helping a much taller figure, a similarly patchwork shape that was handing him plates to put on the table. Whimsy had seen this one too, back when they'd first come in. They'd been given a name, they knew, but the sight of a figure even remotely similar to them had caught them off-guard.

Though, as the moments of that first meeting had worn on, it became clear that there were differences.

This other creature, this other faerie, did not seem to need to blink, for starters. Pale blue eyes ringed in black faintly glowing and constantly staring, almost as if their owner had been trying to pick apart Whimsy by sight alone. They, no, she, was also considerably shorter, with the top of her head coming up to the middle of Cab and Tagger's faces. In physical shape, she resembled a doll with a simplified face, jagged-edged mouth and all. But, much like a faerie, she had more animalistic features mixed in, namely small but noticeable claws, legs that resembled a dog's or a cat's, along with two points coming out of the top of her head that resembled a pair of ears. Though, given that her skin appeared to be a sort of canvas material, Whimsy wasn't sure exactly how well they worked. Then again, maybe they did, faerie logic being the way it was. Whimsy had tried to read into it, but the general consensus was that people generally didn't know how faeries worked. At least, not inside and out.

Their creator might've known. But the ship had sailed on asking.

Before Whimsy could even have a hope of sitting down, a pair of fast-moving shapes dashed past their legs, hurrying to the table with the same frenetic urgency of a starving animal that had just been presented with the prospect of food. And they were both chanting 'pancakes' like the apparent breakfast would need some sort of summoning ritual.

"Hold on you two." Fancy's calmer tone hinted that he had no fear of either, despite the fact that one was a literal skeleton but dressed like a child they might see walking down the street, and the other looked like an uplifted wolf puppy, dressed in what looked like some sort of medieval garb. A tail wagged through the seat of the canid creature's pants, mirroring the flicking movements of a pair of batlike wings poking through the wrap covering the upper part of the small body. Somehow Whimsy knew, without being told, that this was another faerie.

Granted, they had the same feeling that they did when first looking at the canvas-made fae, that, just maybe, they might be too different to fit in with another faerie. The fact that this little one was so bouncy, full of life, didn't help that notion any.

They felt like a note in a song that didn't fit, Whimsy's feet already sliding back before an arm at their back caught their attention. A glance to the side revealed that Cab was the culprit, the sharp-toothed grin turning softer at the edges as they gave the reanimated faerie a little nudge; it's okay.

So, taking a deep breath, and feeling like the act of moving their own limbs was a momentous thing, Whimsy put one foot in front of the other and started moving towards the table. They weren't exactly making a lot of noise, even with their larger size, so they weren't sure what exactly made the little faerie-puppy's ears swivel around to them. Her head followed the movement, cherry-red eyes growing wide as she looked up and up…

I should say something, right? Whimsy couldn't helping thinking, the feeling of something squirming in their stomach as they stared down at the faerie-puppy's face, the mask-like fur around her eyes starkly contrasting with that bright scarlet.

"U-Uh, h-"

"You're tall…"

This hadn't come from the faerie-puppy, but from the little skeleton who had turned around while Whimsy had been focused on what exactly they were going to say. The small, child-sized skull had bright lights set in the sockets, glowing blue pinpricks that also stared up and up at Whimsy with the same stunned shock.

"Yep! This is…" Cab started, before trailing off and gesturing with theatric dramatics to Whimsy, inviting them to introduce themselves.

"Whimsy."

"…Whimsy! They'll be stayin' with us ferra bit, so, don't give 'em too much trouble, okay?" Cab continuation may have been meant well, but it seemed to hammer in the notion that Whimsy had done their introduction wrong. Not that they had much experience, but the emotional knife had already been pushed in, and twisted all the more by who exactly they were being introduced to. They didn't exactly have the best luck when it came to people, never mind children…

An image flashed through their mind, of a small child clutching his arm as they tried to skitter away from the faerie, eyes wide and liquid-y at the edges as they stared at Whimsy with nothing short of complete fright.

"Why did you do that? I-I was trying to help you!"

-a limp little figure in their arms, before a CRACK-BOOM rang out and pain blasted through their shoulder-

They blinked, hard, the images vanishing though the sight that greeted them when they opened their eyes didn't seem much easier. Both the little skeleton and the faerie-puppy were still staring up at them with frankly unreadable, worrying awe, and Whimsy felt fresh out of possible conversation. Thankfully Cab came to their rescue, though the reanimated faerie felt like a coward as they accepted his reminder of pancakes as an excuse to get away from the pair, and actually sit down.

However, the trials for the day were not done, as the one that slid in to sit on Whimsy's other side was the other faerie, the taller one with the staring eyes. It didn't help that once the dishes were all laid out, this faerie was taking over the actual doling out of the pancakes, and while Whimsy was trying their best to mirror what they saw the others do, it didn't keep them from feeling a twinge of nerves when those unblinking, unreadable eyes turned to them.

It seemed to take an inordinate while of them staring at each other for the other faerie to figure out that Whimsy needed a little help, a much softer toned, feminine voice speaking up and somehow very audible to them despite one of the children laughing about something nearby.

"Did you want one pancake or two?"

"…Can I get three?" Whimsy's request was answered as she doled out three pancakes, though they couldn't help the brief glance at the plates around, mentally doing the math as to whether or not they'd taken too much. It seemed fine, but their brief spate of figuring was interrupted as they realized that the other faerie had not stopped looking at them.

"…Wh-What is it?"

"You never mentioned your name."

Though the specific language wasn't used, this still felt like a request for a name, and not in just the 'what is your name' kind of fashion. Whimsy had certainly not forgotten that this was a faerie, a faerie that, even with their more placid demeanor, probably held to at least some of the old standards when it came to behavior. So, squaring their shoulders a little, they replied.

"You can call me Whimsy. I don't think I got your name either?"

"Do you want to know it?"

Wasn't that why they were asking? Maybe they should have phrased themselves differently…

"…Yes?"

"Then you can call me Patches." The frankness with which the words were delivered made it hard to tell if the other faerie was upset or angry about what they'd said, Whimsy feeling that uncomfortable, cornered-animal-type squirming settle in their gut as they maintained eye contact. Patches was the one to look away first, turning to her two pancakes and leaving Whimsy to awkwardly consider their own three. The pancakes themselves were warm, the smell more than appetizing though the sight of the faerie-puppy trying to slice hers with her fork while partially shoving them in her mouth caught their attention briefly. Fancy's efforts to get her to use the knife something that Whimsy paid close attention to. While there was a surlier, more combative part of them that groused who cares how we eat it, a part of them couldn't help pointing out that if they wanted to avoid attention, they'd at least have to give some semblance of good manners.

Though when they finally tasted the pancakes for the first time, Whimsy couldn't help the immediate impulse to scarf them down. They were good, the one with the little dots of blue in it quickly discerned to have blueberries and wasn't that just a completely welcome surprise.

Non-sarcastically meant. At this point they were seriously considering asking for more, though a quiet chuckle from Tagger cut through the euphoria.

"You enjoyin' the pancakes, Whims?"

Of course, their mouth was full when he asked, leading to them throwing the neon-eyed figure a glare as they considered the notion of whether or not they could rush through swallowing this. Deciding that no, they wanted to savor the pancakes, Whimsy instead made to turn their attention back to their food, and ended up having another distraction in the form of Cab proffering what looked like some kind of jug.

"Syrup's real good on those. Here, give it a try."

Whimsy watched with a growing-less-wary sense of curiosity as the golden…liquid (?) was poured onto what remained of their pancakes. And a hesitant taste turned into pure bliss as Cab had been proven completely right. The rest of the pancakes were quickly scarfed down, though a quick glance around the table showed that there were other things to pick at. They recognized the small bowl of berries, snagging a few and quickly eating those, though the one with the bacon going too quickly for them to have a hope of getting anything and with everyone reaching for some they weren't too sure they wanted to bother.

But, just as Whimsy had dropped back to more or less consider their empty plate, Cab reached over and placed down a few strips of bacon. At their surprised look, he pointed to his other side, to where the little skeleton boy gave a bright wave to go with his fixed grin. Whimsy's lips twitched, though the sight of the relatively normal-looking teeth brought to mind their own, sharp-toothed grin, and they kept their smile small. It didn't seem to deter the little skeleton at all though, the small bones clattering as the child jittered around with pure happiness at the simple show of gratitude.

It did help, a little, though Whimsy found themselves drifting towards a silent backdrop, more listening to the words of the others rather than contributing. They didn't think they would have very much to say anyway. At least, not things you said when everyone else was talking, laughing, telling jokes, and overall being far more light-hearted.

Was this what it was like? To be…normal? To have a home and a family? It was vaguely reminiscent of what they saw through the cracks in the walls of the blind woman's family, the strangeness of the current cast aside, and it made the role of the watcher feel all the more fitting and familiar. Safe.

"Whimsy," someone started, the faerie feeling like that veneer of security just tumbled down around them as they were yanked into the conversation. The source turned out to be the nearly silent Patches on Whimsy's other side, their eyes yanking to her like she'd brandished a knife. "Have you ever done this sort of thing before?"

Their brain stuttered out a little, because they knew the answer and also had the very certain knowledge that perhaps telling the whole group in any detail how that went likely wouldn't end well.

"I, uh, yes. A long time ago."

Not so long though, the reanimated faerie avoiding everyone's eyes as they drew inward, closing off from the rest of the group. It didn't stop them from hearing the somewhat awkward pause in their wake, the conversation stuttering to life with some sort of joke from Tagger that blurred in their ears. They didn't really feel like paying attention much anymore, the earlier, calmer feeling gone by the wayside as things seemed to move on around them. Before they knew it, everyone was getting up, doing their respective parts to gather up the dishes as Cab took over the washing of said dishes.

It felt like the rest of the group moved on like a hurricane, taking their warmth and energy with them. Whimsy was left clumsily fumbling along in the aftermath, glancing around in askance before handing their plate off to Cab who'd practically all but entreated the reanimated faerie to give it over.

Just as the porcelain left their fingers, a tug on their overalls caught their attention, Whimsy looking around before dropping their gaze even further, and finally catching sight of the faerie-puppy staring up at them.

"Y'smell really funny." Her voice had such an odd accent to it that it took Whimsy a few moments to realize that the words weren't altogether flattering.

"Uh…"

"Y'smell like a lotta different things. It's weird."

"Uh, Sunny…" Cab tried to interject, though he was still up to his elbows in the dishes from breakfast.

"They smell like apples, Cab!" Sunny insisted, before closing her eyes and taking in another deep breath through her nose. "An' trees. An' dirt. An'…"

Another inhale, and Sunny's eyes opened again, looking more puzzled.

"…Lightnin'. You smell like dead things an' live things. Which one are you s'pposed t'be? Are you like Manny or are you like me?"

It felt very much like the child was asking the question 'are you alive or are you dead?'. It was one that Whimsy couldn't help asking themselves sometimes, especially given the fact that the only side of the spectrum they'd ever see were the people in the villages, the towns. The very much alive, and the dead things were lying in their worm-infested, decomposing beds. Seeing Manny was definitely a first, but Whimsy knew that they weren't the same as the little skeleton.

"I, I don't know. I don't think I'm…either…"

"Why don't you know? Wasn't anyone there t'tell you?"

No, but the word wouldn't come to their mouth, as it came with ranting about how their own creator hadn't wanted them, had taken one look at them and fled, leaving Whimsy to deal with the world alone. Even with distance, and cares, that still stung worse than physical wounds. But, as they tried to figure out how best to answer, Sunny seemed to come to her own conclusion, reaching out from her perch and pressing a hand to Whimsy's front.

"…It's okay. No one told me either. But if you're smart, you won't need tellin'. You'll figure it out. That's what Tagger said. But Patches said I could ask an' so did Cab an' Fancy. Maybe they can tell which one you are." Sunny said, with the gravitas of someone delivering a prime solution, punctuated in the conciliatory pat they gave the leg of Whimsy's overalls. It was the sort of thing that they really didn't have any words for, but in lieu of just sitting there like a dullard Whimsy did try to add something to the conversation.

"That's…that's some nose you have."

…Didn't mean that it didn't sound any less lame to their ears. Though, thankfully Sunny didn't seem too off-put by the switch. If anything, she seemed proud that Whimsy had pointed it out.

"I've got the best nose. Ask anyone."

"It's the best. Can find a rabbit in the whole forest." Cab pointed out, Sunny grinning happily at the support.

"Yep!"

But, even with the lighter switch, the question that the little faerie-pup had asked stuck in Whimsy's mind, beating like a drum.

Are you alive or are you dead?

It was one that, for all their efforts to wrangle an answer, they couldn't quite manage it.

They ended up retreating to the couch again, settling down on the leather fabric with a quiet sigh. Was there a right way that that was supposed to go? It hadn't felt right at all…

The faint sound of someone walking caught their attention, their head turning to see Cab approaching, a somewhat nerve-edged smile flickering over his face as he came near.

"'Ey, Whimsy. You doin' alright?"

"Yeah, fine," they mumbled, looking away to consider their knees and feet yet again. It seemed to provoke something in Cab, his tone changing from moderately upbeat to quietly apologetic.

"…Hey, just wanted t'say sorry. Forgot the kids can be a lil' inquisitive sometimes, realized that y'prob'ly didn't want t'deal with that just after wakin' up. And don't worry about Sunny, she's just curious. An', hey, Manny seems t'like you."

Which was, reasonable, and a little bolstering, but Whimsy couldn't help a recriminating thought from slipping out.

"…Don't think most people would want their kids being around me…"

"Hey, hey no, none of that now," Cab suddenly murmured, sitting down on the table in front of the sofa just to be within the reanimated faerie's field of vision. "Whimsy, no one here thinks you're a bad person, y'hear?"

Whole mobs of people felt differently, Cab, Whimsy wanted to say, though the more biting thought wouldn't quite make it to their tongue. Instead, something a bit more lame slid out, the faerie letting their chin drop even more as their shoulders rolled inward.

"…yeah, sure…"

"Whimsy, look at me? Please?" Ordinarily, they might've rankled a little at the thought of anyone telling them what to do. But Cab's behavior, his tone, everything felt like he was actually trying to be nice, like he thought of them as a person. So, even though they didn't quite relinquish their hangdog, beaten-down demeanor, Whimsy did look up to meet Cab's eyes. The look they saw there was enough to give them pause, only having seen something like it once before. Beaming sincerity and emotion, to the point where the eyes glimmered faintly at the edges. Cab's hands came up to grasp Whimsy's shoulders, the touch only getting the faerie to look away for the briefest instant before their gaze immediately snapped back to Cab's, somehow sensing that what he was about to say was something that he wanted them to properly hear and absorb.

"Trust me, I know. This is hard. And it's okay to be freaked out about it. But, Whimsy, no one here thinks you're a bad person. And, if you want to, you don't have to be a bad person. You don't have to be. You can be just as good as anyone else, just as good a person as you want to be. Nobody can force you t'make a choice, only you do that. And, Whims, I don't know a whole lot, I'll admit it. But, anythin' anyone said, anythin' anyone did to you, it's not your fault, okay? That's on them, what they do, what they say. Not on you."

It was nearly everything they'd wanted to hear, but somehow, there was doubt. There was a part of them that couldn't help looking for falsehoods and tricks, that thought that what Cab was saying couldn't apply to them. And maybe it didn't. It wasn't as though Cab knew about what happened to the blind woman's house, or that child's arm, or a similarly patchwork shape underneath a sheet…

"…Why do you care? Why, why does this…matter so much to you?" It was an honest question given how suddenly Cab had come in and just started, offering them things like friendship and a place to stay. Though while Whimsy couldn't fault themselves entirely for asking it, a part of them couldn't help feeling just a little like they'd done something wrong as Cab's hands fell away, his eyes glancing around as though for help before he just seemed to decide to come out with it.

"…I, I've been there, before, Whims. Maybe not exactly where you are, but…I've been somewhere near it. And, in a lotta cases, what I'm tellin' you was, I didn' exactly have that many friends to start out. Pretty much none, actually." Cab's eyeline dropped, his whole, lanky frame drooping as though held down by weights. But he didn't stay that way for long, quietly looking back up to meet Whimsy's eyes though there was still a careworn shadow in his face as he smiled. "Kinda, y'know, when you see someone goin' through somethin' similar, makes you wanna stick up for people like that. T'help them out. Heh, sorry, prob'ly not makin' much sense."

"No, I, I think I get it." Whimsy replied, feeling a faint, nearly involuntary grin tugging at the corners of their mouth. "Thanks…Cab. Thank you."

"Welcome. Also, Whims, we're goin' out, by the way. Just takin' a walk. Wanna come with?" As Cab spoke, his hand reached out to Whimsy, gloved palm up with the fingers a little outstretched. There, if they wanted. But...

More crowds, more people, more feeling out of place.

"...No." They should say something else, right? "No thank you."

Though there was a slight downturn to Cab's smile, he nodded in that understanding sort of way before heading back into the kitchen.

"Okay. I'll see you later, okay, Whims?"

"…Sure." Whimsy more murmured back, a faltering feeling in their stomach that Cab probably couldn't hear them. The thought that the group would have to come back through the room, and would therefore have to walk past them, forced Whimsy up and back to the spiral staircase. Not to mention, Bee was right beyond the door, and if he were to come back…

Well-meaning or not, Whimsy didn't want to deal with really anyone right now.

They were nearly to their room when they saw a faint ribbon of light playing across the floor, from a door that was a little further down the hallway than theirs. A wary sort of curiosity pricked at Whimsy's conscious mind, the reanimated faerie skirting down the hall with a stealth that was a little disarming given their eight-foot-frame.

It was a skill well honed, though, and put them right next to the door in question. And, with the way it opened, they got a rather good view of the room beyond. It was a space filled with color, different reels of fabric here and there, gatherings of sewing material, a rack full of completed and partially completed clothing. There was a desk directly across from the door, a familiar figure there and quietly at work. Fancy was bowed over what looked like a mess of warm colored fabrics, hands a constant blur of motion as he carefully stitched one of the seams. Whimsy honestly could not have said what it was, both because of the angle and just by looking, they were hardly any sort of expert on clothing.

But, the more they watched, the more they found the motions, and the overall atmosphere of the room, soothing. Perhaps it was the fact that it was quiet, but warm, and perhaps it also had something to do with the stitches running through their own frame, but somehow it was enough to keep Whimsy rooted there, quietly watching, for what felt like a good few minutes, their eyes quietly roving over everything from the clothes themselves to other things scattered about the room.

On one of the upper shelves of the desk, standing out because it was different from the other nooks and crannies filled with sewing supplies, were a bunch of what looked like random objects. Small stones, what looked like some sort of porcelain figure of someone dancing, an apparent amulet with a piece of some kind of crystal, a small mechanic's wrench, and a folded piece of paper with a smaller, colored piece pinned to it.

They were too far away to really look at any of the other objects, but the wrench immediately brought to mind Bee. Had Bee given Fancy that? Were the other objects all gifts too?

With the added layer of detail, the view into the room almost became a mirage, something that Whimsy could almost imagine themselves stepping into and claiming as their own. Someplace warm and inviting, with objects here and there that had their own stories, their own place.

Their own home…

Though unfortunately, the spell was broken with a too-loud creak coming from the hallway, Whimsy not sure if they'd accidentally shifted or not but seeing Fancy pause and make to look up. Without thinking, they turned tail and tried to hurry back down the hallway as quietly as they could, closing the door of their bedroom behind them.

For a brief instant they stood there, listening, before realizing that there was light coming in through the window behind them, which would illuminate the fact that they were standing there. Stepping back, Whimsy moved closer to the window, and happened to catch sight of movement in the yard below.

Out of instinct, they drew back, but it still didn't mask the sight of Cab, Tagger, Patches, Sunny, and Manny all heading off for their walk. The younger children skirted around the older three, clearly in good spirits with Cab more readily following along. Tagger and Patches were going at a more sedate pace, though were clearly part of the group. Despite the strangeness of the people, it was much like what Whimsy had watched from a distance.

What would it have looked like if they had gone too?

It felt foolish, not to mention horribly vulnerable, to just stand there staring out the window, so Whimsy instead turned to the bed, still rumpled from the nightmare-fraught sleep of last night. It looked just as lonely and forlorn as they felt, the reanimated faerie letting their eight-foot-tall frame thump onto the mattress. They didn't want to sleep, for a multitude of reasons, but, really…they had nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go.

It was…frustrating. Wasn't this supposed to be better? Were they doing this right? Was there a right way? They didn't want to go on the walk. Cab hadn't tried to force them, but he'd seemed… not bothered, but maybe a little put out. Had he wanted them to come?

But, they hadn't wanted to. Should they have agreed anyway?

The thoughts were more maddening than helpful, and getting tumultuous enough that Whimsy forcibly cut them off with an irritated growl as they pressed their face into the pillow.

Of course, cutting off their own air really didn't help much, so after a few seconds the reanimated faerie quietly pulled their face away and looked to the side instead, fixating on the blue and the tops of the trees they could see through the window. They had the thought to open the window again, to hear the sounds of the nature outside given that so far, it had been the only comfort. Though the thought was in their head, and they could easily picture getting up to do it, for some reason, they couldn't make themselves move. Instead, what happened was that Whimsy rolled onto their side, eyes lazily focusing on the trees outside as they gently swayed in a breeze.

Time melted by like that, and they easily could have slipped into a doze that thankfully was too light for dreams. But, as they flopped onto their back, a knock came from the door.

It brought to mind Cab, though in a twist, the one standing there when Whimsy opened the door was Tagger.

"Hey, Whims!"

"Hi." Whimsy wasn't about to force more than a politely neutral tone, though Tagger's voice still kept that calm, devil-may-care lilt that showed he wasn't the least bit intimidated by anything, never mind the eight-foot-tall faerie staring him down.

"Missed you on the walk, but Sunny and Manny wanted to get you some stuff. Think you might be able to come out and play next time?" They weren't sure how it happened, but somehow Tagger moved past them, setting down a few objects on the dresser across from the bed. Two rocks, one lighter colored and with rounded edges, the other jet black with sharp angles. As Tagger placed down the little souvenirs from the hike, it struck Whimsy just how plain and bare the place was. Fancy's room had been littered with personal touches, but for them the only thing in the room was the furniture.

Well, it wasn't like they'd set up shop anywhere long enough to really acquire things of their own. The fact that they had an actual bed still felt like a marvel. Tagger was currently sitting on it but it still counted.

Still, Tagger's tone, and words, rankled enough that now Whimsy actually felt a rebuke coming to their tongue.

"I'm not a child, you know."

"…Funny you should say that. T'me, pretty much everyone in this house is young. Well, younger." Tagger's tone had softened a little as he turned back, the look in those oddly-colored, glaring eyes easing down to something a little less blinding. It brought to mind the conversation that Whimsy had sort of participated in, where Tagger had divulged that he had been the first one that Cab had befriended, and more or less kicked off the formation of this strange group. Perhaps then would have been a good time to actually dig in and find out more, but, well, they were here now. No time like the present, right?

"…How old are you?"

"Rude." Given that it was more than a little hard to read Tagger's face, Whimsy couldn't help the immediate apology that leapt to their tongue. It didn't help that Tagger's body language could have been either mock-affronted or real-affronted, his arms crossed and upper body turned away with his head back a little. Had they said something offensive, it wasn't like they would know…

"I, wait, I wasn't…"

Thankfully, Tagger seemed to get that facing in the opposite direction wasn't helpful, turning around and actually facing the reanimated faerie as he replied.

"No, no, it's okay. I'm kidding, Whims. Don't be so serious. And, honestly? Couldn't give you an exact, numerical answer. I just know that, in terms of age, I pretty much rank ahead of everyone, Fancy included."

The notion was honestly a bit of a shocking one, though it stoked to life Whimsy's curiosity. And, if Tagger hadn't been too bothered by that one question…

"What exactly are you?"

"Well…you know that feeling you get when you're out at night, alone, and you keep having the feeling that someone's behind you even though you're pretty sure no one's there?"

"…Yeah?"

"That's kinda in the same ballpark as me. 'Course, you might be a little more familiar with the rest of the family. The Call of Cthulhu mean anythin' t'you?"

"…No, not really."

"Don't worry about it. For reference's sake, think of it like the blackness between the stars, or like when you're swimmin' in deep water an' just happen to look down at all that nothin'. Just, all the stuff out there that's too big to know that might keep you up at night if you think about it too much because, as it turns out, there's either no answer, or there's one you might not like all that much. Point bein', there's a reason I keep all this paraphernalia on."

Well, that was something of a revelation, even though Whimsy felt they really could only guess at exactly what Tagger was eluding to. Something unknowable, something too old to really pin down a proper age to, something that couldn't even show its true face or form around anyone. How on Earth did Cab even befriend something like that?!

"So, now that you know somethin' about me, can I ask somethin' about you, Whims?"

Seemed fair, though they weren't too certain they'd like where this was going.

"…Sure."

"Y'can sit down by the way, not gonna bite. Alright, my question is…where've you been, exactly? I can tell you're a faerie, at least on the outside and before whatever happened there, but somethin' like you doesn't just sprout up overnight."

"…I, I was, I've been traveling. Around. I…I spent some time in a village, a good ways north of here." Whimsy haltingly replied, sinking down to sit next to Tagger.

"Yeah? Spent a while up there?"

"Yeah. I, I was staying with a family…they didn't really know I was staying with them." This felt like the start of a chain reaction, Whimsy fully aware that this was, while not the worst of their crimes, a good lead into the destruction they'd wrecked.

"Guessin' the family might not have reacted well to their house guest, huh?"

"…One did. There was an older woman who lived there. She was blind. I thought if I could make my case to her, then, maybe they'd let me stay…"

"Didn't work out?"

"No. Her family came back, and they saw me, and chased me away, and when I'd gotten back they'd left and I-" Fire, fire had happened as the little cottage that they'd been so fond of burned up around them like some portion of Hell had risen to devour it. Whimsy had been angry, true, but there'd been something so soul-chilling in the sight that it had sapped them of their anger like a bucket of water to the face. Their efforts to put out the flames had ended in burns, burns that hadn't stopped stinging until they'd been able to douse it with water from the well and despite their best efforts, the whole thing had gone up. They'd had the thought in the back of their mind before, but especially now as they relived the memory, they couldn't help wondering what happened to the family. Did they come back? Did they see what the faerie had done?

"…I burned their house down."

"You don't sound proud of that."

"I wasn't, I'm not, I just…I got angry." A deep sigh, before Whimsy went with the first thought knocking about in their stitched-together head. "Doesn't matter anymore. Wouldn't have worked."

"Maybe you didn't find the right people."

"There aren't any right people. Nobody cares about me."

"You sure?" Tagger's voice had started to take on that semi-teasing lilt again, the reanimated faerie finding that they had barely any patience left for that nonsense, thank you.

"…Look, whatever you want to say, just come out and say it."

"Don't know the specifics, but Cab didn't have to say he'd be your friend, right? Fancy didn't have to let you stay in his house. I didn't have to carry you back up to your room last night. But we did. Kids didn't have to get you presents either. But they did. Know your experience is a little skewed, but…what'dya have to lose in tryin' again, Whims? Besides, you're not dealin' with some run of the mill, salt of the earth types. We're all pretty weird. Think I just demonstrated my own case decently well. And, if you're runnin' around with a crowd of folks that're weird, d'you really stand out?"

It was a good point, Whimsy going quiet as they considered it. They were, unique, for sure, and they were pretty sure that there wasn't anyone else in the world like them, but, considering what they were learning about their new housemates, maybe someone exactly like them wasn't needed.

"We're a stubborn bunch, Whims. You ain't gettin' rid of us that easy." The words, in and of themselves, were something to think on, but what grabbed Whimsy's attention was the fact that Tagger, did something. Made some sort of motion like he was going to reach out to the reanimated faerie, but as Whimsy stared and leaned away, Tagger pulled back.

"Alrighty then, suit yourself," he murmured, almost sounding dismissive. Though as Tagger made it to the door, he glanced back to the faerie. "And, if and when you're ready, c'mon down. We'd like to see you sometime."

They'd all like to see them. There was nothing in Tagger's voice that suggested a falsehood, which made the knee-jerk, resulting thought that no, no one wanted to see them, feel very much like a double-edged sword. Keeping anyone else away, but cutting deep somewhere inside.

"Oh, by the way, Whims," Tagger spoke up, twisting around in a way that didn't look altogether right as the neon pie-cut eyes glimmering from underneath the hood glanced back at the reanimated faerie. "Left you a surprise on one of your gifts, but you gotta turn the lights off and close the curtains to see it. Anyway, see you 'round!"

And with that, he was gone, leaving a somewhat confused Whimsy in his wake. Bemusedly their eyes turned to the little stones that were now sitting innocently on their dresser, the faerie even resorting to going over and picking them up for a closer look. Left something on them? What the heck did that mean?

Though there was the added stipulation of the lights, Whimsy quietly putting the stones back down before going to the light switch and then crossing the room to get the curtains.

It was when they turned back to the stones that they saw the glimmers of light, almost like paint, dotting the surface of the darker one. But it was only when they got close and picked it up that the reanimated faerie could read what had been scrawled over the rock.

A simple message, written in brilliantly neon colors with ever letter being a different shade: Hi Whimsy!

And a sort of design underneath it that, as they turned it around, looked like a small, simplified face winking at them.

It was such a small thing, the kids not having to think to get them a present but Tagger also had not had to add in the extra message. But it felt both lightening, and a little worrying. Like Whimsy was standing on the edge of a precipice and couldn't see the bottom of the pit they were looking to jump into. They'd seen groups of people, both friends and presumably families, that looked to have that perfect happiness.

It had been a strong lure, as perfect and content as it looked, to tease Whimsy from the trees and pique them to try talking to the people they saw. But it had never worked. Even when the other person couldn't see how they looked, it never worked.

Whimsy was weird, Whimsy was wrong, Whimsy was disgusting, a monster, unwanted, not supposed to be…

In a snap, they realized that they had started to squeeze the little stone, and immediately loosened their grip with a worried grimace. The present, and the message written upon it, were thankfully unharmed, Whimsy looking down at it for a moment before carefully placing it back on the dresser.

Their attention was grabbed by a brief shuffling noise in the hallway, Whimsy wondering for a brief instant if Tagger had come back to see if his gift had been warmly received. The door had been left open a crack, a few strides taking them over to it and a brief nudge opening it enough for them to look out into the hall.

Which was empty. Whimsy peered left, then right, seeing no one.

They pulled back into their room, thoughts turning to what Tagger had said before. Maybe, maybe they would try to go downstairs in a little bit. Just to maybe explore the place a little more, though they couldn't help a mental block on the notion of what they would do if they actually encountered anyone. Maybe better to tackle that in the moment rather than try to plan ahead, planning ahead didn't seem to do them much good…

Whimsy ended up being so engrossed in their own thoughts, that they missed seeing the door to Fancy's workroom, which had been open a crack, surreptitiously slid shut as they returned to their own room.

It took a few hours before Whimsy felt ready, heading down to the landing and ending up a little relieved by how quiet the main area was. Bee, it seemed, had left, and though the sight was calming, they were still on-edge given that just because the more-visible car had apparently stepped out didn't mean that the others weren't here somewhere.

Though, thankfully, at least from the higher-up vantage point, Whimsy could safely say that they couldn't outright see anyone wandering around in near the couch below, or in the kitchen. Listening around revealed that things were quiet, though a quick glance to the windows drew Whimsy's eye to the fact that the sky had gone gray, the first of a rainfall pattering against the glass.

It did kill the fleeting impulse to actually wander around outside, though Whimsy was loath to just return to their room. Not after they'd come this far. Maybe, even with the possibility of someone coming along, they could just sit for a while.

So, with that thought in mind, they slipped the rest of the way down the stairs, walking past the little kitchen area to the sort-of living room.

It was a good thing that Whimsy had gotten into the habit of watching where they were putting their feet, otherwise they might've traipsed all over the two little forms simply sprawled on the living room floor. As such, they simply stood there for a moment, a foot handing in the air as they stared. Sunny was predictable enough, the little canine-gargoyle faerie arranged like a sleeping puppy, but Manny was…more interesting, to say the least. At least, Whimsy was fairly sure that when things looked all disjointed and, spread out like that, they were supposed to be dead. Actually dead, but then again, Manny being a little skeleton, maybe the rules were different?

Either way, this was a little more weird than they felt equipped to handle, especially from children, so the reanimated faerie turned on their heel. Thankfully, Patches was just coming out of the back room, though the other faerie's lighter tread meant that Whimsy nearly ended up running into her when they peeked out. Immediately both recoiled, Whimsy with an apology on their lips, though they ended up truncating it, given that Patches had that ever-present serene look as she considered them. The kind that barely seemed to get ruffled, it was almost maddening given that it made it difficult to tell what she was really thinking.

But it would be…wrong, to simply judge the other faerie for a trick of her demeanor, something not able to be really helped, so Whimsy simply bit their tongue and stayed quiet on their internal thoughts. Instead, they turned, gesturing to the scene in the living room as they tried their best to convey the issue at hand.

"I just, I found them like this, is Manny supposed to be…?"

Patches peeked around them, pale, unblinking eyes immediately lighting on the slumbering pair. Perhaps it was relieving, in a way, that the cloth-made faerie didn't immediately blanch, or scream, but that calm serenity was a little maddening. This was precisely why they'd been so slow to integrate with anyone, Fancy was easy to read, Cab was too earnest to have ulterior motives, the children were children, Bee was a demon, if not an easy-going one, and Tagger was…Tagger. Whimsy still had yet to figure that one out, but at least he had more visible moods, unlike Patches who seemed to skate through life with a strange sort of distant coolness.

"This happens sometimes," she was saying, lightly skirting over with barely a noise. "You can just pick up Sunny. I'll show you what to do with Manny. Just watch my hands."

"If you just give him a little help, he'll come together on his own." To illustrate her point her gentle motions of picking up the somewhat discombobulated skeleton caused Manny's bones to jolt back into place, Patches carefully scooping up the small monster and tucking him close, like Whimsy had seen mothers handle their children. Manny himself barely woke up, automatically snuggling in to Patches's shoulder, though the reanimated faerie felt themselves bristle as those unblinking eyes turned to them.

"You can try picking up Sunny. As long as she's comfortable, it should be fine."

Though there was a part of them that bristled at the notion, especially since Sunny could easily fit in an arm, Whimsy still knelt, reaching carefully out to the small, winged body. It was only after they'd carefully plucked the wolf puppy-like faerie off the ground that they realized that Sunny had been sleeping on top of something. It was a sheave of paper, along with some pencils, though what drew Whimsy's attention was what was on the paper.

"Sunny likes to draw," Patches said by way of explanation as Whimsy picked up the paper, though something in their expression caught her eye. "Is something wrong?"

"I, she drew me."

And it was so, Whimsy able to more feel than hear Patches coming around to look, but for the moment they had no space left for their knee-jerk guardedness. They only had eyes for this, picture. This child's creation that had them as a part of the group, standing under a bright sun and blue sky, amongst what looked like long, yellow grass. Strangely enough, Tagger was the tallest of the group, Whimsy competing with Cab for second-tallest, and what was probably Bee looked like more of a jumble of red and black than a proper car, Sunny, Manny, and Fancy looking similarly blobbish, but it was all recognizable. And they were a part of it.

"Patches told us," Sunny spoke up through a yawn, having woken as Whimsy had picked her up, ", 'bout the fields she used to live in, when she scared the crows. She said it was like a dream, when it was sunny, and the winds blew through the fields. It's her best place. She said I could use it. Wanted you to be there too. No more bad people, just us. All of us."

"Wh-Why…?" Whimsy forced out, their mouth feeling very dry as something about the word, or perhaps the emotions behind it, stuck in their throat. But Sunny merely looked up at them with her cherry red eyes, beaming that sort of empathetic heaviness that most children didn't have. Maybe Whimsy might've considered it more, though right now, their emotions were bubbling up their throat, coming out in a soft sob at what had simply fallen in their lap.

"If I had known…I would never have given you breath!"

"You're an object of shame, without soul or a name!"

"You…no place but…THE GRAVE…"

"No," Cab had said the other night, when they'd first met. "You don't need him! You don't need someone that don't want you! He's hurt you, cut him out of your life! If you need somewhere to go, you can come with me, with us."

"You're a little late offering me friendship," Whimsy had replied, a sneer curling their lip as they glared at the bizarre…thing, a creature dressed very much like a man, that stood before them. But, a strange thing was happening, had happened. Even as Cab had spoken, tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes, like he'd meant every word of what he'd been about to say.

"But I'm doin' it. Late or on time, the point is in the doin' of the thing! An', if'n you saw someone who you know felt as lonely and as hurtin' as you do now, would you just stand by? Knowin' what you know, and havin' been through what you've been through, would you, would you just let them suffer?"

They hadn't an answer, but when Cab had held out his hand, they'd taken it with only a faint bit of hesitation. Cab had tried more to steer them along, but the way he'd been keeping a grip on Whimsy's hand made them wonder if he thought they might bolt if he let them go. But then he'd turned to them and said something that had been sitting quietly at the back of Whimsy's mind.

"Everythin' in life is a choice, an' while you've gotten one hell of a raw deal, you don't hav'ta stay there, you hear? You won't be alone, not with us."

A choice. Whether they'd been aware of the significance or not, they'd made a choice. And it had brought them something small, but heartfelt, and precious. This, not small, but simple life that accepted them so readily as one of their own. That accepted them as…

"Whimsy, it's okay, I just meant that we're family now, see? Patches, Cab, Tagger, Bee, Fancy, Manny, me, you, we're all a family now." Sunny's voice trembled with upset, though Whimsy felt completely unable to answer. But, like a calm wind, a ray of sun in darkness, Patches's calm, whispery quiet voice spoke up.

"I think Whimsy needs a hug, Sunny. Can you give them a hug? One of your very best?"

The small arms wrapping around what they could of their frame snapped the last, delicate thread holding back the emotional floodgates, Whimsy doing their best not to crush the smaller faerie as they cradled her, and cried. Deep, heaving sobs that came from somewhere far down inside as a wail stayed locked behind a set of clenched teeth, their stitched together frame feeling like it might shake itself to pieces from the maelstrom raging inside.

We're a family…

"No soul or a name!"

You don't have to stay there…

"Corruption of biology…"

You won't be alone…

The feeling of another small frame, this one bonier, coming to hug them caused Whimsy to start, wide eyes finding the equally tumultuous ones of Manny. They must've woken up the little skeleton, but before they could even think to apologize the boney little arms were wrapping around their own arm, Manny tucking in in his own effort.

Whimsy looked up just in time to see Patches kneel in front of them, something beaming through as they made eye contact. That calm serenity swirled with a compassion that loomed as large as the open sky, Patches quietly reaching out to the reanimated faerie, and carefully brushing their tears away with a hand made of course cloth. They were quickly replaced by more, though for the moment Whimsy only bowed their head, shoulders helplessly shivering as they tried their best to ride out the storm.

What they weren't expecting was for Patches to reach out, gently easing them to lean into her shoulder. Her hands, with their faint suggestion of needle-like claws, carefully combed through the topmost layer of their curly mane. Their head rested against Patches's shoulder, folded down enough that even their eight-foot-tall frame could rest comfortably while still not crushing the two children doing their best to give the overwrought faerie a hug.

A soft hum caught Whimsy's attention, Patches's whispery tones rumbling low in her ribcage before it blossomed into a lulling song.

"You'll remember me, when the west wind moves, 'pon the fields of barley, you'll forget the sun in his jealous sky, as we walk in fields of gold…"

The 'best place', a field of pure gold that rippled in the movements of wind like something alive. But peacefully so, like the soft rise and fall of breath. It felt so antithetical to what they had known before, the shouting, the strife, the loneliness, the abandonment…

Though there was a part of Whimsy that wanted to push back, to withdraw until they felt safe, they found they couldn't. It felt so foreign, and yet there was a part of them that couldn't help staying right where they were. It was also the part of them that seemed to be the center of the emotional storm, this screaming, wailing, crying thing that grasped at the physical comfort like a lifeline. Patches's voice blurred in their ears, a lulling hum as their mind moved away from the images of darkness, lightning, mobs, screaming…and to a field of softly waving gold.

The thought caused a soft, near-involuntary sob to rattle through Whimsy's frame, Patches briefly breaking in her song to murmur some soothing words that was probably meant to be nonsense, but somehow, Whimsy couldn't take it that way.

"Shh, shh, we're here, we're here…"

A few moments of that, and carefully rocking them a little, and the scarecrow faerie went back to her tune. Whimsy listened, holding onto it like it was a part of the stitches running throughout their skin as the world dissolved into an exhaustion-dulled haze.

"I never made promises lightly, and there have been some that I've broken, but I swear in the days still left, we'll walk in fields of gold…"

"Hey, Whimsy…" A voice spoke, piercing the calm stupor that had drifted in. In the moment, Whimsy had no other thought apart from that they particularly liked where they were and didn't want to move, burying their face in the material as they tried to get away from whoever this was.

"G'way…"

"Would, but you're kinda pinning Patches to the floor. Wanna try gettin' up on the couch, probably be comfier?" At first, Cab's words were confusing, Whimsy's eyes blinking groggily open before they realized that, well, he was right. Turning their head brought Patches's face into view, the calm, even stare a little softer as she looked down at the reanimated faerie. With a somewhat sheepish flutter in their chest, they realized that they were still using Patches's shoulder and upper body as a pillow, with Sunny and Manny still held close in a careful but firm grip. Whimsy straightened, pulling away from the relatively vulnerable position, but they couldn't make themselves let go of the pair just yet.

With nothing else they could do, and a glance around telling them nothing, they couldn't help asking a somewhat hesitant question.

"H-How long was I asleep?"

"About ten minutes. Not very long at all," Patches replied, stretching now that the weight of all three had been removed.

"Hence why we're bringin' up the couch." Cab pointed out, about to reach down to help Whimsy up before Tagger nudged him aside.

"They got two heads on you, noodle-arms. Lemme do it."

Though Tagger was definitely more than ready to haul Whimsy up, it was a little difficult given that their hands were full of sleeping children. Patches and Cab tried to make it easier by taking at least one per each of them, but Whimsy had a moment of conflict as they looked between the offered hands and the little forms nestled against their front.

"It's okay," Cab spoke, catching Whimsy's hesitation. "They're pretty much out. You wanna take five with 'em?"

The question provoked a shy, eye-avoiding nod, though no one seemed to begrudge Whimsy an iota as they clambered up onto the sofa, and quietly scooted inward to make room for the sleeping Sunny and Manny. Instead, there were just quiet words on the part of Cab and Tagger, varying levels of affection in the pair's voices as Cab handed Whimsy a blanket and wished them a good nap, and Tagger's neon grin rife with rough warmth as he said he'd see the faerie later.

Sleep well, see you later. Was that normal to hear, and to feel like it was being meant? They weren't sure if they wanted to ask, but it definitely was a first for them. But, as Cab and Tagger were moving away, it suddenly struck Whimsy that Patches was still standing by, and apparently had something to say.

"You can come to me again if you need to talk, I don't mind. Also," she murmured, kneeling down next to the couch to look Whimsy in the eye. "You have brambles in your hair. I got about three out but there's probably more. We can try to fix that later if you like."

The faerie in question wasn't sure they could offer much to that, but Patches thankfully didn't seem to need an answer, getting up and leaving without any prompting. Whimsy was left blinking in the wake of that, before deciding that, well, they didn't need to really decide anything now and settling into the pillow with a sigh.

The slight movement made both Sunny and Manny move around, twitching and squirming for a moment or two. Without thinking Whimsy reached out and placed an arm over the pair, mostly for the sake of keeping them from rolling off the couch, but found themselves surprised when Sunny turned to huddle into them, Manny's arms reaching over Whimsy's and wrapping around like the limb was a stuffed animal.

It made the realization hammer in all the more that these little creatures, these kids, trusted them. Trusted them enough to sleep peacefully next to them, trusted them enough to let them into their home, draw pictures of them like they were one of the, the family.

The thought had Whimsy swallow another lump in their throat, a prickling at the corners of their eyes stubbornly forced back down because they were sick and tired of feeling miserable. Besides, if they started up again it might wake the kids.

"Shh, go to sleep, you're safe with me." They found themselves murmuring anyway, a faint tremble eating at their voice as they huddled around Sunny and Manny.

The sounds of the rain pattering on the windowpanes formed a soothing backdrop, Whimsy's eyes lazily drifting to see the water as it ran in rivets down the glass. It didn't quite banish the sounds of fire, of screams, that lay burned in their memory, nor the ghostly feeling of a noose tightening around their neck…

…But it was some space. It was a start. Maybe that would be good enough for right now, the thought bringing enough peace to the reanimated faerie that they let their eyes slip closed, breathing growing slow and deep as they slipped into slumber.

It made them miss when, a little while later, a much shorter figure came round the sofa to look at the little huddle gathered there. Fancy looked upon the otherwise sweet scene, a slight furrow in his brow as his eyes turned to the hand and arm Whimsy had used to keep Sunny and Manny close, covered in stitches that he knew so very well. Because he'd sown them with his own hands, slaved for hours over the eight-foot-tall frame that now belonged to the sleeping faerie on his couch.

Briefly, the tailor reached out for the fingers in some knee-jerk impulse to inspect them, before the thought of what if Whimsy woke up, how on earth he would explain what he was doing made him draw back. Thankfully none of them moved, but it left Fancy standing there, awkwardly staring, and wondering what on earth to do.

The sight of a light flashing from behind the sofa, out in the garage, quickly caught the tailor's attention, and he followed the nonverbal signal all the way to the car innocuously parked in the far corner of the garage. The door opened silently in an invitation, Fancy climbing into the driver's seat with an exhausted sigh and feeling more tired than he'd felt back when Cab had simply brought his 'new friend' right to their doorstep.

"You gonna tell them?" Bee's voice spoke from the radio, quiet but questioning. Not accusing, or forceful, but like a nudge on your shoulder to get you in gear. But right now, Fancy very much did not want to 'get in gear'. Instead, one of his arms folded over his front, his hand coming up to knead at his forehead to dispel the growing ache there.

"Okay, different question," Bee started, "what'dya think of them? It's been a few days, you gotta have at least some thoughts."

"I think…they've had to deal with far more than they should have. That that stupid idiot…made some very big mistakes in handling them. That they've probably been alone for a while. I'm glad they're connecting with people though, be it Cab, or Sunny and Manny, or Patches. It should be good for them."

"Alright. Gonna let 'em stay?" Bee asked, the sudden question catching Fancy off-guard.

"Huh?"

"Whimsy. It's your house. Is it okay if they stay?"

He could tell that this wasn't meant to cast doubt on Whimsy or their character, but if the tailor were to be any judge he would say that this might be a way to make up for the downright shock that Cab simply bringing the reanimated faerie home had been. Especially given that it was practically unannounced, which was something that tended to throw everyone when it came to Cab. In a group of supernaturals that had to adhere to some strict etiquette rules, the one that behaved the most like a mortal, with all of the spontaneity that came with, tended to stand out like a sore thumb. Even if, to this day, Cab was something of a mystery. A mystery that tended to be danced around, given that telling someone like Cab that they were 'different' was usually a recipe for the checkered-skinned toon to just avoid the issue and then for him to burn out a few days later from how much he tried to avoid dealing with it.

And, either way, it wasn't like Whimsy had destroyed his house or anything, so Fancy didn't feel too much conflict over his next words.

"Don't think I could throw them out now even if I tried. The kids would be too upset if their new playmate left. Cab wouldn't like it either." It also probably wouldn't be very good for Whimsy to be just acclimating to a new place and then be thrown out. If anything, it would likely undo that bit of progress that Fancy had just seen. And, though Fancy might not admit it to anyone other than himself, there was a slowly growing sense of responsibility for the reanimated faerie. If the mayor would not look out for his own creation, then maybe the only other person aware of the circumstances behind said creation should.

"Good point." Bee's voice rumbled through the speakers, before taking on a somewhat more hesitant air as he asked his next question. "You, uh, holdin' up okay?"

"I'll be fine. You're not worried, are you?"

"Think Tagger an' I have been sorta worried since you called us to come get you. First time I saw you that freaked out by anything. Second might'a been when Whimsy came in."

To be fair, Fancy ruminated, both instances had been firsts for him too. The fact that a reanimated myth had simply been brought to his doorstep was a shock in and of itself, but the fact that it was the same myth that he'd been more or less forced to slave over, put together from dead bodies, and whose creator pushed him to the point of a nervous breakdown, now that was enough to perhaps add to the gray streak in the tailor's hair.

The nervous breakdown itself had been something, given that while Fancy could say that he'd had rough points in his life before, there was nothing quite like the experience he'd had when one of the bodies that Whimsy's creator had been working with turned out to be a little more rotten than previously thought. Mostly because trying to take anything from it had resulted in a horrid, absolutely putrid smell filling the room, Fancy having gotten a glimpse enough of the rotting features that he'd about lost whatever little he'd been able to eat beforehand. He'd run out, managing to get a call home and getting Tagger, and of course he'd come with Bee for expediency's sake.

The ride home was an ordeal, given that by the time Fancy had been sitting on the curb for a good fifteen minutes, trying to banish the stench and sights from his mind, he'd become uncomfortably aware just how acquainted he'd become with the dead. The sight of dehydrated, blackened flesh no longer enough to sicken him but in retrospect it was all the more horrifying. He'd tried to focus, tried to buckle down, tried to tell himself that it was just a job and he'd make it through, and the mayor had definitely been paying good money that could be put to good use.

But in the end it wasn't enough, and Tagger had been coming just shy of outright putting his foot down in stating it. It wasn't enough to justify poor sleep and worsening health. It wasn't enough to make up for the fact that Fancy knew, in his heart of hearts, that what the mayor wanted wouldn't be so easily obtained. Some 'conditions' just weren't curable, and death was unfortunately in that category. And while the tailor had been able to ignore the niggling concerns in the back of his mind about just where these bodies were coming from, there was the part of him that wondered if they were all being obtained by 'legal' means. Or, if any family involved might be aware of what was happening to their loved ones.

There was only one body that he'd felt more or less sure about, the one that the mayor had had set up on that main table, the one that had been having the most alterations done to it. That one had clearly died not that long ago, still with a shadow of life in its features. In the right light, it almost looked like someone languishing under an illness, their face frozen in a look of quiet but poignant resignation though their neck had been a little oddly bent.

Perhaps it was to be expected, given that it was a faerie's corpse, though there had been a part of Fancy that had been a little put off by how dismal the expression was coupled with what the mayor had been doing. Perhaps it could be partially blamed on the fact that he knew faeries, Patches and Sunny, and to see either of them in this position would have been gut-wrenching. But he hadn't known this one, so looking at them had just brought a sort of melancholy irritation for their situation.

You look like you've suffered enough. Can't he just let you rest?

But then that night had happened, and Fancy had taken a break for a few days to come back to a note on the door for him, explaining that his services were no longer required. There was talk of a payment, the mayor had sounded apologetic regarding the whole incident, but Fancy's mind kept going over what had happened when he'd asked why his services hadn't been needed anymore. The mayor's exact words were that the experiment had been a failure, but he didn't elaborate.

Maybe that should have been a sign that not all was well, but Fancy had believed the whole endeavor impossible. How was he to know it had actually succeeded in creating something?

Though, as Fancy snapped out of his thoughts, he realized that he'd more or less been sitting in silence, ruminating, for a good minute now, with Bee patiently waiting for him to reply.

"…I'm doing better, promise. Startled me, definitely, but I'm feeling more…balanced. Definitely less 'freaked out', as you put it."

"Good to hear there. Though, Fancy…I get 'not now', but, be careful with that kinda secret. If anything just because it'll end up sitting like a rock in the trunk."

"Fair enough. Worried I'll get more gray hair?" It might've been a bit of an unfair thing to joke about, as while Fancy had adjusted to the streak of gray in his hair following the whole incident with the mayor, the supernatural cast of characters in his household…really hadn't. At least, not until everyone was sure he wasn't about to keel over given that they'd all made the somewhat correct assertion that 'going gray' could mean that you were close to the end of your life. It had taken at least a few weeks for them all to back off, though out of all of them, Tagger and Bee were the only ones that knew the full circumstances. Still, there was a laugh in Bee's tone as he replied, hinting that while there might be a worry it wasn't nearly as strong as it had been.

"Hey, don't even go there, mister. Not until you're at least pushin' fifty."

"Alright, alright, I'll be careful. And, I probably will tell them. Just not right now. Thank you, Bee." The words were punctuated with a gentle pat on the steering wheel, the lights flickering like a grin in reply.

"Welcome. Gotta work on stuff?"

"As always."

"Can you show me sometime? Can't exactly make it up the stairs…or wear clothes, but it looks fun." It might've been an odd request for a car to make, but Fancy was decently sure that Bee had made similar ones before now, about various things that though he knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of him being able to participate he still wanted to know about. Ergo, it wasn't too hard to agree.

"Sure thing."

As Fancy was about to cross the living room, his path brought him within viewing distance of the huddle still slumbering on the couch, the tailor pausing for a moment to sort of re-take in the sight. Whimsy's face was quietly relaxed, arm still in that careful, protective position over Sunny and Manny, the pair just barely visible though Fancy could see Manny's much smaller arms still wrapped around the darker, stitched-together limb.

It was a surprisingly sweet sight, even with the unusual-ness of the cast of characters. Fancy gave a quiet, calm smile, before heading for the stairs.

[melisusthewee]

Fic - Anchor (Dragon Age) 3/3

Summary: The Exalted Council is where everything goes wrong. Three short stories about a "boon from Andraste" that's slowly trying to kill him, Quinn Trevelyan makes peace with the inevitable only to realize that living another day means facing the one person he foolishly tried to leave behind. Written as part of the weekly drabble challenge on the DA subreddit.

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairings: Cassandra/Trevelyan but it’s in the past and can best be described here as “former lovers with little left to say”.

Rating: this part is pretty G, don’t worry

Words: 1,750

Notes: Real life been very difficult lately so I’m really sorry for not keeping to the schedule of posting... especially when there was only one part left.  It’s been years since I started seriously sharing any fandom content, so there’s a bit or us to shake off in terms of posting constantly.  But I will get there.

Click the link to read this and previous parts on AO3 or read the rest on Tumblr below the cut.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: Denouement

Take my hand.

Wait, what are you doing?

The only thing I can.

No… no, Solas, please…!  Solas-

“Wait!!!”

Quinn woke with a start, his arm outstretched, reaching forward for something that no longer was there.  Instead of Solas’ retreating back, all he saw was… ceiling?  That wasn’t right.  He had been outside, in ruins beyond an Eluvian, dying under a bright clear sky amidst a garden of stone statues that had once been Qunari.  Now he looked up at clouds that were only painted onto plaster, on a ceiling that his mind told him would have to be Orlesian, and that even as he felt tired and confused, that it meant someone must have brought him back from… wherever he had been.

He let the tension in his body go, sinking back into the bedding with a quiet sigh.  He was alive when he very well shouldn’t be and he supposed he should be grateful for it, but he felt tired and weak.  But, he realized, he was no longer in pain.  The realization seemed to rouse him a little further, cutting through the fog in his brain.  The mark had been a source of constant pain for nearly a year, but Quinn realized that he no longer felt anything.  No sharp sting or the constant pulsing throb that had plagued him for weeks.

Because Solas…  Solas had taken his hand and…

I’m sorry.

Everything came flooding back to him in a rush.  The blinding pain and then the sudden release and recoil, like a tether had been snapped.  Solas’ retreating back, and the panic he had felt then, rising in his chest again as he looked over to where his left arm should have been.  But there was only a stump, wrapped in bandages and ending at the elbow.  Quinn sat up, grasping at the limb with the arm that had been untouched, and made a noise that was something between a curse and a sob as he tried to process all the bleary pieces of memory and dreams that were coming back to him.

He didn’t realize he wasn’t alone in the room until he felt two hands grip him by the shoulders and attempt to get him to lie back down.  Surprised, and still caught up in the confusion of suddenly having only one arm, Quinn lashed out at the figure, but his strength wasn’t what it should have been and they caught his good hand easily by the wrist.  The grip was firm, but not forceful, though the voice that cut through Quinn’s blind panic was sharp.  It was enough to ground him, at least for a moment, until he realized he recognized the face staring at him and felt his stomach sink.

“Cassandra.”  It wasn’t a question.

She let go of his wrist and sat back on the edge of the bed, but Quinn recognized a certain severity in her look that he understood meant she knew about everything.  Suddenly not having a left arm seemed obvious, he thought bitterly, but the way she was looking at him made him realize everything really did mean… well… everything.

He thought about trying to explain.  That he only had one thought on his mind towards the end and that was that he had to stop the Qunari before they assassinated every head of state south of the Waking Sea no matter what.  That the Anchor was killing him so he didn’t have time to sit down and explain everything to everyone.  But he knew they were just excuses, and poor ones at that.  He could have made time; he could have let people in.  He simply hadn’t wanted to, because… because…  Maker, did it even matter now?

“How do you feel?”  Her words were curt and to the point.  She asked him questions like she was going through a checklist or preparing a report for a healer.

Quinn frowned.  How did he feel?  How did she think he felt?  His head hurt, his arm was gone and yet he felt it like it was still there, the last thing he remembered was the singing of birds and the smell of grass, of the sharp snap like a bowstring had been cut and what was left of his hand falling apart in front of him, and Solas—

A firm hand on his shoulder snapped him back to attention.  Cassandra pressed a glass of water towards him and he realized as his heart began to beat normally again that he must have panicked.  For a moment he considered waving her off.  He didn’t want to be fussed over.  He didn’t deserve to be fussed over.  But he didn’t have the strength for the fight he knew was coming and so he begrudgingly took the offered water.

“My arm is gone,” Quinn said after a time.  It was an answer to her question.  At least he thought it was.  Or maybe it was just him stating the obvious.  He wasn’t entirely sure, but he felt it needed saying.  He glanced down at where bandages ended into empty space.  A voice in the back of his head whispered it was a good thing he was right-handed and Quinn very nearly laughed.  But then another voice reminded him that he needed two hands to wield a bow, and Quinn felt his throat close up and his heart drop.

“They say you were found like that,” said Cassandra.  Quinn said nothing but continued to stare into the half-empty glass.  Water was fine.  He would have preferred something a bit stronger right now though.  “It was Solas, wasn’t it?  Dorian and the Iron Bull gave their reports and Cole… had his own thoughts to share as well.  You found Solas.”

Quinn nodded.

“Everything that happened… your mark, the Breach, Corypheus… Justinia.  It was him.”

Quinn shrugged.  It was rather more complicated than that but… in a way… he supposed she wasn’t entirely wrong.  Cassandra clenched her jaw in the way she did when she very much wanted to say something but was taking great pains to hold her tongue.  He held out his glass, hoping to distract her from whatever thought she was having.  He wasn’t certain if it worked, but she did busy herself with getting him more water.

“But he saved your life.”

Quinn said nothing.  He hadn’t wanted to be saved, not really.  He had made peace with the idea of the inevitable, but here he was back from the brink once again only this time pieces of him had been left behind.  And here he was, the only company the one person he had done his best to hide from.  Whatever he’d done to make the Maker hate him this much, he was sorry.

“Why did you keep it a secret?”

And there it was.  The one question he dreaded, but the one he knew was inevitable.  He looked up and tried his best to shrink back as if the pillows could swallow him up and make him disappear.  He hated that Cassandra’s gaze made him feel guilty, but he hated even more that while he wanted to apologize to her he had no idea how.

“Why do I ever do anything, Cassandra?”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Then what is?  What is it you want to hear from me?  That I’m an ass?  That I’m too proud to let everyone know that this blessing from Andraste has actually been trying to kill me this entire time?  Yes, let’s just share that with everyone in the middle of the bloody Exalted Council!  Good idea!”

In a gesture that Quinn recognized as showing a great deal of undeserved patience towards him, Cassandra stood up and quietly rearranged a few trinkets on the bedside table before returning to her seat.  She looked at him sternly, but kept her voice level despite his own raised one.  “We could have helped.”

This time Quinn did laugh, but it was a sad sound and he wasn’t smiling.  “No!  You couldn’t have!  There was nothing you could have done!  And that…”  Quinn trailed off as he realized what he was about to say.  If he had told her that something was wrong, she would have have tried to stop him.  She would have worried about him in spite of everything, just as she was sitting here worrying about him now and Quinn didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t deserve any of this after the way things had ended.  So he had kept it all a secret, and left her behind because… because it was…  “It was easier if you didn’t know.”

“Easier for who?”

He sighed heavily.  How did he explain what even he didn’t truly understand?  It was easier not to tell her because when he thought about worrying her, he still felt pangs of guilt and remorse.  It was easier to leave her in the dark and let her get mad and hate him when he didn’t return because then she could make up whatever stories about him she needed to tell and move on instead of doing this awkward dance around each other that they kept going through because he was a right bastard who could never manage to do right by her even when he’d tried.

“There was nothing you could have done,” he said quietly.  “We both know that…”

“And yet, here you are.  Alive.”

Quinn sighed softly.  “Here I am.”

Cassandra didn’t press him further and blessed silence drifted between them.  After a while, Quinn chanced a glance in her direction and found she was no longer watching him sternly… or watching him at all, really.  She had picked up a book and sat quietly reading, likely what she had been doing before he’d awoke.  At first he thought it confusing.  He knew he hadn’t given her a satisfying answer, he knew he should have apologized to her.  But every time he thought about the words, he felt his tongue wouldn’t co-operate.  And that had always been the problem with him, hadn’t it?  But maybe, after all this time, she had caught on to the things he didn’t say.

“They’re going to tear the Inquisition apart after all of this,” he said after a time, his voice distant as he tried to wiggle fingers that were no longer there.

Cassandra glanced up from her book only briefly, but she gave him a smile that Quinn felt shone brighter than the sun.  “They will try.”

[roggenmuhme]

Strawberry Colada

The Pearls x Reader Summary: You get drunk and your unsuspecting gem girlfriends have to deal with it. There's always a first time for everything, right? [A series of short one-shots/Human Antics series] Wordcount: 2.3k

I hope this whole collection isn’t too ‘out there’ for you to enjoy, a lovely person on discord had this prompt idea and it … just took over. I legit couldn’t stop thinking about this, so here goes nothing. So far I have Jasper, Bismuth and the Diamonds planned; if you have any input/ideas, I’d be glad to hear them! (But I can't promise anything, some characters are incredibly hard for me to write unfortunately) As always, feel free to contact me for anything really - imbutahumblefarmer#5583 on discord! Also tumblr is being weird with the format again - can also be read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864869/chapters/57363457

Warning: Detailed descriptions of nausea, along with the more uncomfortable feelings of being drunk. Be careful, please (no vomiting)

Dedicated to that one time I fell asleep cuddling a clorox bottle. The hot, humid air around you quickly became overwhelming as you pushed past a couple standing irritatingly close to the exit. Your hand clenched around your smartphone, the only thing grounding your upset stomach right now. You definitely had had one shot too many with your friends an hour earlier and the wild dancing afterwards didn’t help either. As you fought to keep the bile down, you swore off Jägermeister for at least a month. Pushing open the heavy, black door, you greedily breathed in the cold air. It felt almost as good as the ice-cold glass of water you had downed minutes ago, a desperate attempt to keep the nausea at bay. Stumbling away from the entrance, you hastily looked around, searching for any sign of your girlfriends. You had texted them fifteen minutes back, when it became obvious to you that you had to end the night early, too sick to continue. They had answered in seconds, you knew how vigilantly Pink Pearl watched her phone (she had been enamored with the device ever since she got it, because it meant constant and fast communication with you) and now all you had to do was wait for them. Easier said than done, in your drunken stupor all of your thoughts flew to your gut, you knew you had to keep moving or else its contents would soon find another home on the streets - and you hated vomiting.

Pacing around in front of the dimly lit club entrance, the dulled bass soon blended into the background and seconds turned into hours. You cursed yourself for being so careless with alcohol this time, falling victim to the peer pressure of your friends. In the end, it was your fault for accepting too many drinks and you knew tomorrow wouldn’t be fun. But right now, you had different problems on your hand. Just as you were about to check your messages once more, someone yelled out your name as if it wasn’t two in the morning and they hadn’t seen you just hours ago. Quick steps followed and soon an enthusiastic Pink hugged you from behind, her arms digging into your stomach. As much as you wanted to appreciate the sweet gesture, you nearly expelled  your hearty dinner in that moment. “H-hey”, you croaked, slowly turning your head to meet a loving gaze. “C-could you let me go?” In an instant her arms were gone and she appeared next to you, a sweet smile on her face. “Hey!” You tried to reciprocate her grin, but it looked rather pained. Somebody pointedly cleared their throat behind you and you didn’t have to turn around to know who the culprit was. Although you were slightly compromised right now, you still made a show out of turning around slowly, clearly trying to annoy Yellow Pearl. When you finally faced both Blue and Yellow, the latter rolled her eyes at your antics, but you knew she didn’t really mean it. Blue Pearl promptly rushed over to you to greet you with a gentle hug, her voice nearly too quiet to be picked up by your abused ears. “I’m so glad you want to go home so early.” You forgot your upset stomach for a moment as you patted her back, melting into her touch. It was adorable how they all missed you the instant your back was out of the door, even grouchy Yellow. Said gem brought you back to reality with a snide comment, one hand touching her chin. “You look absolutely disheveled, what have you been doing?”, she leaned in to inspect you closer, only to recoil in horror. “Stars, you reek!”, her tone was seriously offended, her face scrunched up as she blinked rapidly. “Oh...”, was all you could muster, suddenly aware of you unkempt your whole presence was. A wave of nausea forced the thought into the background, a hand flying to your mouth as your cheeks comically puffed out. “Oh no”, Blue put a hand on your shoulder, as did Pink. With two concerned pearls to either side of you, you only managed to blurt out a ‘let’s go’, hoping you’d make it to your apartment without any accidents. As you tried to power-walk your way back home, the alcohol hit you once again, making you stagger with each step. Blue and Pink stabilized you with a surprisingly firm grip (sometimes you forgot how strong they could be despite of their slender builds) while Yellow took the lead, arms crossed behind her back, throwing you a glance every couple of minutes.The silence was overbearing and your mind too focused on that dreadful feeling in your gut. You couldn't take it any longer.

"Please…", you huffed out. "Tell me something. Talk to me."

Next to you, Pink piped up, her voice excited. "Blue and I made a batch of your favorite cookies!"

An image of said cookies flashed through your head and your stomach turned at the thought. As much as you loved a homemade batch, food was the least appealing thing you could imagine right now.

You made the most disgraceful gurgling sound. "About anything else, please? No food, I beg of you…", you heaved out.

Pink let out a surprised noise, seemingly at loss for words. Even in your inebriated state you could feel the guilt creeping up, they had no clue what you were going through (not that you could explain it right now, anyway) and were just trying to help you. “Ugh”, you tried talking through a surge. “S-sorry, I can tell you why tomorrow, but I’m j-just not up to speed.” Blue clutched your left arm a little harder and Yellow looked at you a little longer than necessary. Yes, they were definitely worried for you. “B-but it’ll pass”, you took a deep breath. “Promise!” Pink gave you a small smile at that, but you could still see concern in her eyes. You owed them a detailed explanation tomorrow. The chatter picked back up, Yellow and Pink taking turns. One was more or less bickering, the other eagerly talking about the evening they had spent without you. Blue practically hang from your arm, slightly massaging your tense muscles when she felt another tremor working its way through you. You got accustomed to walking after a while, your overloaded brain phasing in and out of the situation. When you finally arrived at home, it felt like you had teleported to the location. Your aching feet told you otherwise. To your amazement, the nausea had died down a bit, probably due to time and fresh air. You’re were still hammered though.

As the Pearls ushered you as quietly as possible into your shared apartment, you could feel the exhaustion creeping up your eyes instead. Your walk became even more sluggish, you barely managed to kick off your shoes (much to the displeasure of Yellow, who gave you an indignant sigh) and you blindly wobbled to your bedroom, all three of them following you. As you simply face-planted into the incredibly soft bedding, Yellow was getting winded. “No, no, no!”, she picked you up by the back of your shirt, hauling you back into consciousness. “You’ll ruin the sheets.” Struggling to find your footing, she only released your top after you were out of the door, the soft giggling of Blue and worried gaze of Pink following you. After closing the bathroom door forcefully behind you, she left you alone. Now it was only you and your haggard reflection in the mirror. “Goodness”, you steadied yourself on the sink while you poked your eye bags. You looked very… unfavorable, to say the least. Nothing a full night of sleep couldn’t fix, though. Sighing, you sat down on the toilet lid to wrestle yourself out of your clothing - all those zippers and hooks had been easier to put on a couple of hours ago. Somewhere during the struggle - probably between wiggling out of your socks and fighting with some knots in your hair, your eyes simply clamped shut. You fell asleep then and there, outfit still on, slouched on the toilet seat. After ten minutes of no noise - especially not the tinkling of the shower head -  Yellow decided to check up on you, the other two in tow. As the three of them peered into the bathroom, Yellow had to suppress a groan at your sight, while the Pink and Blue laughed silently. Rolling her eyes, she strode up to you, lightly touching your shoulder, trying to wake you up. Your head lolled back in response, eyes flickering open for a moment, promptly closing again. She tapped your chest with her index finger once, as if to chastise you. “You should feel honoured that you’re my human”, her voice was barely above a whisper as she lifted you up with a sour expression, the others quick to help her. Together, they carried you back into the bedroom, freeing you of your restrictive clothing. Pink and Blue quickly found their usual places right next to you, cuddling up to you with ease. Your subconscious made you curl into the both of them, Pink lovingly stroking your hair away from your face. Yellow sat on the edge of the mattress, frowning while she watched the three of you. “Why don’t you join us?”, Blue’s voice was hushed, trying not to wake you up. Yellow raiser her chin in response. “And dirty myse-” She didn’t get to finish that sentence as your hand shot up and pulled her towards the cuddle pile with an iron grip. “C’mere.” She squealed in surprise, face immediately on fire. After a minute of adjusting herself, she eventually settled into a comfortable position and reluctantly drifted off, as did the others. You woke up to the sound of soft breathing and an unfamiliar pressure on your stomach. Looking down, you first saw Blue resting on your chest and further down a lightly snoring Yellow. Pink’s face was nestled in the left side of your hair, her breath warming your scalp. Groaning as quietly as you could, you strained your neck to take a look at the time, only to be greeted by Blue’s head shooting up, a tired smile on her lips. “Morning”, you grinned at her, promptly pressing your hand against your mouth. You had the most terrible morning breath, even you could smell yourself. A wave of humiliation washed over you, along with an agonizing headache. She only giggled and pressed a kiss to your forehead instead, then quickly got up to wake the others. After Yellow basically propelled herself out of bed in shock and Pink finally (after many gentle words and loving touches) was ready to let go of you, you were forced to take a shower and brush your teeth, no matter how bad the headache was. To Yellow’s credit, you did feel better after getting clean. The sun was still painfully bright and your head wasn’t done with throbbing to the beat of some imaginary techno tune, but you felt like you could at least stomach some food now. The smell of your favorite breakfast hit you as soon as you left the bathroom, guiding you to the kitchen, where an excited Pink Pearl prepared a hefty plate for you and Yellow and Blue sat at the kitchen table, a hushed conversation going on between the two. As soon as Yellow caught your eye, she crossed her hands over her chest, her voice shrill in annoyance.  “Well, why didn't you tell us you were drunk?”

"Uhm…", you blinked at her for a second, a bit lost. "I thought you weren't familiar with the concept and I swear I didn't plan to escalate like this yesterday. I'm so sorry."

You looked down to your hands, nervously fiddling around with the hem of your shirt. It wasn't like you were lying, in all your excitement you had forgotten to warn them - going out was such a normal thing in life and you weren't usually one to get that wasted. This didn't absolve you of your guilt at all, you had probably scared the ever-loving shit out of them still. They were a trusting bunch that believed you when you told them something - that was perhaps why they hadn't fussed over you yesterday. You had assured them that everything had been alright, after all. Pink sat the plate down at your usual place, a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"We know you didn't mean to hurt us. But we were worried!"

You said nothing, your face hot with shame, hands now tightly clutching your shirt. “Come, sit down”, Pink lightly pushed you towards the table and you reluctantly plopped down, your non-dominant hand immediately clasped by Blue. She gently stroked it with her thumb, a gesture of reassurance. It helped a bit. Yellow rolled her eyes at your sorry form. “Stars, you are so dramatic!” “It really isn’t much of a problem”, Blue piped up next to you. “Just tell us next time, okay?” One shy glance at each of them later, you reluctantly nodded. “I’m still sorry I fucked up.” “It’s okay”, Pink giggled a bit at your puppy eyes. “I think you’re paying enough already.” As if to illustrate her point, your head throbbed once again. “...Maybe.” As you finally dug in, one last thought got the better of you. Something didn’t really add up here."Wait - how did you know I was drunk?", you asked perplexed, the fork in your hand coming to a grinding halt. Yellow didn't say anything, she grabbed something from her lap instead: Pink's smartphone, cluttered with a million stickers. Holding it between her index finger and her thumb, she began to waggle it in a 'gotcha' motion, her face the ultimate deadpan. The google logo was displayed on screen."You know, your human communication devices aren't that bad after all."

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Try

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 1840

Warnings: Flufftastic trying-to-make-a-baby smut. 

A/N: This is a repost of an old fic that Tumblr destroyed during the purge... it used to have a lovely porn gif in the middle. Here it is again, sans gif! 

The shower is blissfully hot and full of steam as you finish rinsing your hair, tilting your head back to enjoy the luxurious pressure of the water on your skin. You examine the scrape on your arm. All things considered, it was an easy hunt, and you’re grateful as fuck that you don’t have any injuries that could potentially interfere with your anniversary weekend plans. Or, to put it bluntly, you’re glad you won’t have to worry about pulling out stitches during sex. 

And, yeah, speaking of said plans…

“Hey,” Sam says, in that low husky voice, sliding open the fogged-over door to the shower. He kisses you, pressing you against the cool tiles of the wall. The water beads over his lips as they meet yours and you run your hands over the muscles of his back, pulling him closer. It’s been two goddamn years of marriage, another two of dating before that, and the way Sam kisses you still makes you feel feverish and dazed. 

He’s taking his time, today. It’s just the two of you, for the rest of the weekend, with nowhere to go and nothing to hunt, and his mouth is tender, nibbling gently at your lower lip and brushing his tongue sweetly against yours. His hands run up your sides, caressing every bit of skin they can find, and you hum happily against his mouth, feeling heat rising in your core. 

“So,” you say playfully, “anything, um, special you want to do tonight?” 

“I have a few ideas,” Sam says, brushing little kisses down the side of your neck. He rubs the pad of his thumb back and forth over your nipple and you gasp, arching up into the touch. 

“Yeah?” The word trails off into a moan as he pinches gently, then rolls the sensitive skin between his fingers until it’s stiff and aching, all while mouthing at your neck, nipping and sucking at all the secret spots that make you see stars. He sinks to his knees slowly, moving his lips over your skin, licking drops of water from between your breasts and grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin just below your belly button. He noses at the crease of your thigh, and you tangle your hands in his hair, sighing in anticipation. 

“I was thinking,” he says breathlessly, and places a barely-there kiss to your clit. “We could-” he bites your inner thigh, making you shudder- “Maybe we could-” 

“Spit it out, Sam,” you half-laugh, fighting the urge to rock your hips forward. 

He’s nervous. At least you’re pretty sure that’s what the hesitation is, that strange awkwardness in his eyes, but it’s been so long that Sam was nervous about anything (let alone something he’s saying while naked) that it’s almost hard to recognize. 

“I was thinking we could… try,” he says. He’s looking up at you with the most hopeful expression now, all earnest puppy dog eyes, and something hot and excited flickers through your stomach. 

Is he asking what you think he’s asking? 

“Try,” you repeat slowly. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, pressing his mouth to your hip and sucking a red mark into the soft skin. 

You’ve talked about it, of course. It’s always been part of the plan, but things were so busy for so long… and they’re starting to calm down a little, but holy shit, that’s a big step. And then you look down at Sam’s face, shining up at you, full of love and excitement and hope, and there is absolutely nothing in the world you want more. 

“Yes,” you say, “Fuck yes.” 

“Really?” he says. The grin spreading over his face makes you feel shaky. You nod. 

And that “fuck yes” is all your brain can manage for a while, because Sam seems to remember where he is and what he’s doing, and he licks right up your pussy, massages your clit with his tongue in a way that makes your head fall back against the wall of the shower, and he’s groaning against you like he wants to fucking devour you. You melt back against the wall, letting him grab you by the hips and hold you in place, because your knees almost buckle when he slides his tongue into you, hot and smooth and slippery. 

“Fucking yes,” you stutter, eyes rolling back at the ripples of pleasure flooding your senses. 

Sam pulls away and you whimper, because fuck, but he turns off the water abruptly and surges to his feet, kissing you hungrily, all teeth and tongue, and when he pulls you out of the shower you’re too weak-kneed to protest in any way. He’s wrapping a towel around you before you can process what’s going on, rubbing it roughly over your arms and kissing you passionately. 

“Bed,” he growls. Jesus, he’s fucking gorgeous like this, pupils blown and lips swollen, and as he grabs your hand and leads you back into the room you take a moment to appreciate him, the muscles running down his back, all that smooth skin you get to touch. You’re pretty sure your kids are going to be beautiful, with those genes. 

Kids. Fuck. 

You let the towel fall and tug him back against you, leaning up and standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, so disoriented by the way you need him that you almost stumble, and you can feel his cock pressing hard against your stomach already. The air is cool on your damp skin, but you’re too eager to touch Sam to bother with drying off properly. 

The two of you fall down onto the huge white bed in a tangle of limbs. Sam’s smiling against your lips with every hungry kiss, and you find yourself grinning right back. There’s something so new and intense about this, knowing that there’s a point, here, that this is so much bigger than the two of you. 

Sam’s kissing down your body gently, setting your skin on fire with every touch, and you can tell he’s ready to take his time, to make you come undone in the way that only he can, until you’re trembling and begging and desperate, but the truth is you’re already close to desperate just from the reality of what’s about to happen. 

“Sam,” you say breathlessly, “Sam, we have all weekend to take our time, can you just-” 

He chuckles hoarsely. “Just?” 

“Just get in me already,” you laugh, tugging at his shoulders, his hair, any part of him you can reach, and when your lips meet again he’s laughing too at your bluntness. 

Your giggles break into a rough, needy moan as you feel the first perfect stretch of him pressing into you. You arch up into him, fingernails digging crescents into his shoulders as he pauses, buried to the hilt, and both of you have to stop to catch your breath. 

“You feel so good,” he pants, and his voice cracks on the last word. “So good, baby.” 

You don’t trust yourself to form words. Instead you wrap your legs around him and drag your nails down his back in the way that drives him so crazy, and sure enough, he lets out a strangled groan and his hips snap forward. The movement sends a wave of heat surging through you and you tangle a hand in his hair and pull him down for a rough, sloppy kiss. 

All this time with Sam and it’s still almost too much, too much sensation, overwhelming and all-consuming, when he starts to move in earnest. Each rolling thrust of his hips makes his cock drag perfectly over every secret sensitive spot that makes you gasp. His hand finds yours, and he laces your fingers together tenderly. 

He changes the angle slightly, twisting his hips and grinding against you, and the perfect slick pressure makes you cry out, practically convulsing around him. 

“Fuck, Sam, I can’t- please,” you whimper, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, you’re just lost in it, lost in him, pleasure coiling and twisting in every muscle. Sam knows your body so well, at this point, knows exactly how to touch you, and between his size and his strength he manages to move in ways that have ruined you for any other man. But it’s so different, this time, even more intimate and urgent, and electricity is coursing through you, building with each surge of Sam’s hips against yours. 

He’s right there with you, voice wrecked and raw as he says your name, and you can feel his muscles shaking under sweat-sheened skin as you run your hands down his back, trying to pull him even closer. You trail your nails down his shoulders again and feel him shiver. 

“Not going to last long if you keep doing that,” he growls, with another devastating roll of his hips that makes you see stars. 

“Don’t care,” you gasp. “So close, Sam, want to feel you, want you to fill me up, please.” 

He lets out a long, low groan, thrusting into you even harder, and all you can do is writhe under him and cry out wordlessly, feeling your orgasm start to build with an incredible intensity, until everything crests and goes fiery white. Your whole body tenses and shudders with each new wave of pleasure, and then you feel Sam go rigid as he comes, moaning your name as his cock twitches and pulses inside you. 

The two of you hold each other as you come down. You’re both trembling and breathless, skin sticky with sweat, and he nuzzles against your neck and makes a happy humming sound. 

“Love you,” you mumble, boneless and blissful. 

“Love you too,” he whispers. He pulls out slowly and you make a little unhappy noise, but he rolls over onto his side and tugs you closer. You curl up against the solid warmth of his chest and tuck your head under his chin, enjoying the endorphin high. He presses a gentle kiss to your hair and runs his hands over your body, petting and caressing in the sweet, gentle way that makes you feel so loved and protected. 

“You’re gonna make such a great dad,” you say sleepily into his chest. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “I can’t believe-” 

“I know. Oh my god, Sam, I know.” 

He rests a hand on your stomach, pulling back to look at you earnestly. “I can’t wait to see you pregnant.” 

“Get ready to rub my feet and bring me pickles,” you giggle. 

“No, seriously.” His eyes are wide and adoring, and you blush under the intensity of his gaze. He rubs gently at your belly, then lets his hand dip lower, down to the sensitive little dip at the top of your thigh, and you can feel your body starting to respond to his touch already. 

“You know anything about how this works? Think there’s a position that helps with the whole conception thing?” you ask lazily. His eyes light up. 

“No idea, but I guess we’d better try all of them.” .

.

.

.

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[ryansunsolved]

Request: Stripper AU, but Shane’s the stripper and no one knows until Ryan ends up at the club where Shane works because it’s a new club.

I’ve seen this prompt floating around tumblr recently but I’ve never seen someone make Shane the stripper in this AU, so kudos to you anon for being creative and providing us with some god-tier stripper!Shane content. I mean, look at that boy’s legs!

sweet as wine

There he was, like disco superfly I smell sex and candy here Who's that lounging in my chair?

Read below the cut or here on ao3

Look— none of this would have happened if Steven Lim wasn’t a scheming little weasel who doesn’t respect the sanctity of Chubby Have I Bunnied.

“Never have I ever lived in Arcadia, California,” Steven said through a mouthful of marshmallows.

 It was foul— but fair play, and an obvious payback for Ryan’s earlier targeted question at Steven. Ryan laughed and begrudgingly fit another extra large marshmallow into his cheeks, nudging Shane.

 “I feel like you have” he smiled, pointing a finger at him.

 “Hm? Have I ever lived in Arcadia, California?”

 “Oh, I thought you said slept,” Ryan snorted, a rogue marshmallow falling out of his mouth like a crewmate jumping ship.

 Shane bit his lip, remembering that one time, years ago when he and Ryan had just started working at Buzzfeed as interns, Ryan inviting him to stay at his parents’ house in Arcadia. He remembered that night all too clearly— the night of their first and only kiss.  It was as though they reached some silent agreement to never mention it again, and Shane didn’t dare to, keeping their work relationship and his own feelings separate. But that was ages ago, and even if Shane’s feelings were still virulent in moments like these when Ryan looked soft and sure, leaning into his space, he had gone this long without mentioning it.

 No need to ruin a good thing,  he thought bitterly, and begun to wonder if he would have to dig out that old journal sooner than expected.

 Ryan had lost the game, forced to spit a congealed mess of mashed-up marshmallow into the staff sink, much to the mutual disgust of his co-hosts, and that’s when shit hit the fan.

 “Ryan, since you’re the loser, I think you should face punishment of some sorts,” Steven said thoughtfully, grinning as he reclined back in his chair.

 “Now, now, let’s be civil,” Shane tutted, Ryan rising to meet Steven’s eye beside him.

 “Like what?”

 “Oh, I don’t know...” Steven hummed, twiddling his fingers. Shane could practically hear the gears turning in his head.

 Steven and Ryan had always had this peculiar rivalry of sorts. It was usually victimless and in terms of workplace conflict, relatively mild, but sometimes it got carried away. Shane could think of about ten different instances off the top of his head where the two had gone head-to-head.

 “What about...you have to go to a strip-club—“

 “What?!” Ryan burst into laughter, head tilting towards the ceiling as he snorted into his hands, “Wha—  why?”

 “—for two hours, with the boys,” Steven finished, “Come on, Ryan, it’ll be fun.”

 Shane instantly paled, pulse hot and wild beneath his skin, Ryan’s laughter muffled below the ringing in his ears. He swallowed thickly, only shaken from his thoughts by Ryan’s hand, searing hot on his thigh.

 “What do you say, Big Guy? You, me, Big Apple Steve, and T.J. out on the town this Friday?”

 Shane looked at Ryan’s sunshine smile, those glittering brown eyes, completely unaware of the inner turmoil Steven’s simple gag had sent him into. Ryan’s touch seemed to brand his skin beneath his skinny jeans. He shivered, putting on what he hoped was a composed face.

 “Sorry, boys,” he said breezily, “m’afraid I’ve got plans.”

 “Booooo,” Steven called after him as he hobbled unsteadily to his feet, making a bee-line for the water cooler.

 Ryan laughed, adding a few taunts of his own, but as Shane cooled his burning face against his aluminum water bottle, he noticed Ryan’s curious glance, as if trying to read Shane’s mind

____

Okay—Shane hadn’t lied. He really was busy on Friday night. What important plans he had, he couldn’t say, not even as Ryan continued to pester him for the rest of the week. He supposes that considering the nature of said aforementioned plans, it would have been wiser to cancel them altogether and just tag along. It would be easier right? He could see Ryan get drunk and danced upon by a few scantily-clad women and then Uber it back home after knocking back a few brewskis himself. But it wasn’t his fault— how was he supposed to know that the strip club Steven would drag Ryan to would be the same strip club Shane worked at?

 Look, Shane wasn’t down on his luck by any means— he had recently started a promising new company with two of his closest friends and colleagues, and was still receiving a cushy contracting cheque from Buzzfeed for their Unsolved series. And despite his recent exit out of a long-term relationship, he liked to think he was doing pretty well, co-parenting a cat with a woman he still very much considered a good friend. But Los Angeles was an expensive place to live, and despite his nonchalant attitude in the Watcher Weekly, he couldn’t help but wonder, if it all went south, what would his backup plan be?

 Besides, why did strippers always need some tragic background story to justify what they do? Couldn’t they just dance because they enjoyed it? 

Shane certainly did, and it came as a real surprise. He never actually expected to take his brother’s friend up on the offer when Finn dragged him to a bar one weekend. They were four drinks in, intoxicated by the booze and fluorescent lights of the dim club, but that single passing comment ended up thrusting Shane into what would eventually become his side job and newfound passion.

 “You could probably strip,” he joked, knocking back some fruity drink, “got the legs for it and everything.”

 The guy was piss-drunk and drenched in body glitter— not exactly the kind of person you would take moral advice from, but nevertheless, Shane woke the next morning with a pounding head and an odd curiosity. It was a joke at first— like one of those bizarre hypotheticals your brain sometimes conjures up. But you never actually  act  on them. The only problem was that he did, and by the time he had secured his first gig, he could no longer deny that he was actually  interested  in a job like this. Okay, so what? He was a young, attractive man living in a particularly liberal part of L.A. 

He shouldn’t have to prove himself, or feel ashamed about what he does. Hell, half the people he worked with were gay and heavily involved in the nightclub scene. And yet still, he found himself choosing not to mention this particular part of his life to his coworkers—  especially not Ryan.

 It just never came up, and Shane never thought that it would— that was before Ryan showed up at his strip club.

 ____ 

The atmosphere hit Ryan like a freight train the second two intimidating bouncers begrudgingly lifted up two velvet ropes, letting him, Steven, and T.J. into the nightclub.

 It was rather upscale, and nothing like the sleazy, smoke-filled joints Ryan remembered from his college days. The walls were black marble, lined with tasteful vintage band posters and neon hanging emblems. An authentic-looking jukebox sat nestled in the corner, and along the stage, a line of attractive dancers had started to form.

 “I can’t believe they still I.D’ed me at the door,” Ryan shouted above the music, vibrating intensely through the floor and walls.

 Steven grinned, “Well, you know what they say— Asian don’t raisin.”

 “What—“ Ryan laughed, unaware if Steven could even hear him over the noise, “I’ve never heard that before.”

 Steven smiled and nodded towards a nearby waitress, leaning in closer to Ryan’s ear, “Maybe you can try to get a free drink. You never know!”

 T.J. rolled his eyes, “Meet me at the bar by twelve. And try not to do anything that’s going to get us arrested.”

 With that he left, striking up a conversation with the bartender. T.J. was a married man with a newborn baby at home— a strip club was the last place he wanted to be, but he obliged to humour Ryan and to provide a ride home if needed.  Ryan, however was recently single. He and Mari had broke things off amicably about a month prior, giving her more freedom to explore her blooming career and Ryan more opportunities to film things for Watcher without feeling guilty about time spent away from home.  They were on good terms, but breakups were never easy, and Ryan was more than happy to get his mind off the situation and get himself back into the dating pool. He suspected Steven’s intentions were as such when he suggested this in the first place, and overcome with a sudden wave of affection for the man, slung an arm around his shoulder.

 “C’mon, Big Apple Steve. Let’s go find us some dancers.”

 _____

 The performances were impressive. Sultry but tasteful, dozens of dancers strutted the stage, winding around glimmering silver poles like black cats, smoky eyes glittering down at the crowd.  There were a few men in the mix too, clad in tight, cropped black clothes, rippling with muscle underneath. Ryan paid no mind to them, used to L.A.’s diverse, open culture, and after knocking back a few drinks, he even found himself eyeing them as much as the girl performers.  It was then that his heart stopped dead in his chest, pushing away the slow haze of liquor from his mind as his eyes zeroed in on one tall figure working the stage.

   The man was unbelievably tall— towering above the rest of the performers, even the ones in six-inch heels. Through the rips in his black jeans, he could see his pale skin, broken up by delicate lace fishnets clinging to his slim long legs.  As the man peeled his shirt off, his collarbones jutted outwards, lean muscle trailing downwards from between his chest. His makeup was minimal— just smudged black eyeliner and a light dusting of glitter down his cheeks and pecs, hair mussed up as if he’d just had sex.  He swayed gracefully to the music, toying with the button of his jeans teasingly, stalking the pole like a predator before swinging around it once, smoothly. Ryan’s jaw dropped, and as he made eye contact with the stranger, the man visibly blanched.

 “I...” Ryan choked out, pants alarmingly tight as a hot coil wound inside his stomach.

 And then Shane was running off the stage, disappearing behind a blue velvet curtain as the music boomed on.

 “Wow,” Steven said, equally as baffled.

 “I...I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Ryan said shakily, nearly tripping over his seat.

 He stumbled towards the floor, and much to his own surprise, he found himself ignoring the neon green restroom sign, heading straight for the backstage instead.

 ____

He found Shane hunched over a vanity with smudged makeup and a lit cigarette like a tragic Hollywood star drowning in self pity and body glitter.

 “I’m not offering any private dances right now,” he grumbled, voice muffled by his hand.

 “I...” Ryan said, unsure of what the proper protocol was upon finding your friend naked and grinding on a stripper pole.

 He was even less sure about how to gracefully navigate that conversation with a raging boner.

 “Oh,” Shane said softly, taking in a sharp breath.

 “I—“

 “Look—“

 They both spoke at the same time, laughing quietly like it was some kind of Mexican stalement and not the singlehanded most confusing moment of their entire friendship thus far.

 “You first,” Shane said almost shyly, and it occurred to Ryan then that for the first time in their dynamic, Shane might be more scared than him.

 “I had no idea,” he said lamely, and cast his gaze back at his sneakers.

 Nice going, Bergara. Real smooth.

 Shane laughed dryly, “Yeah, that...that was kinda the whole point. Who woulda thought Steven would pick the only strip club I’m working at tonight, huh?”

 Ryan smiled, scratching his neck, “Yeah. Uh— I just...” he looked at Shane, biting his lip, “Why didn’t you tell me? I know it’s none of my business what you do in your spare time but...we’re friends, Shane. You know you can share this stuff with me, right?”

 Shane looked down at his lap, looking guilty, “I know, Ryan, I just...” he sighed, “I don’t know.”

 “I mean,” Ryan shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. It was decidedly hard to have a serious conversation when your incredibly hot friend was half naked and sweaty in front of you. “Is it for money or—“

 “No,” Shane said instantly. He shook his head, “I just...” he trailed off, looking at Ryan and offering a halfhearted shrug, “like it, I guess.”

 Ryan nodded, furrowing his brows, trying to take all this information in through his beer-clouded mind.

 “Okay,” he said finally.

 Shane looked at him, looking surprisingly vulnerable and almost small in his chair, “Okay.”

 Ryan swallowed thickly, “You were really good out there.”

 Shane snorted, scratching at his chin, fingers scraping against his beard with a soft sound that send another confusing jolt of heat towards Ryan’s groin.

 “Yeah?”

 “Yeah,” Ryan said, surprised at how deep his voice sounded. He began to walk towards Shane, seemingly not by his own accord. “Really good.”

 “You already said that,” Shane said smiling, looking amused.

 “Really good,” Ryan repeated, voice husky and thick in his chest. Shane’s eyes were wide, and from their close distance, he could see as they dilated, eyes darkening further.

 He licked his lips, feeling dizzy with the intensity of it all, high on the sight of Shane before him, “Still not doing any private dances tonight?”

 “I...” Shane trailed off, looking at his lips, “I might be able to make an exception.”

 “Yeah?”

 “Yeah.”

 Like moving through water, Shane slowly stood up, drawing up a chair, pushing on Ryan’s chest until he fell back into it, breaths laboured as they tore through his chest.  Shane circled the chair once, twice, dragging his fingertips teasingly against Ryan’s low collar before stopping in front of him, dropping gracefully  to the ground on the balls of his feet, smiling coyly at him, gripping his chin.  He got up again, slowly swinging his hips and trailing his hands along his thighs, dragging them up his hardened pecs before threading them through his hair, giving it a resolute tug. He poised one of his long legs on the arm of Ryan’s chair, the impressive bulge in his jeans in direct eyesight as he dragged Ryan’s gaze up to meet his own.

  Shane slowly pivoted, fully into the dance now, a small smile on his face as he ground back against Ryan, grabbing his hands and placing them on his thighs, where fishnets poked out of the leg of his jeans. Ryan’s breath faltered in his lungs,  “Holy fuck,” he gasped, the air knocked out of him like he’d just taken a football to the chest. His fingers twitched along the exposed line of skin, feeling like a teenager creaming his pants after getting to first base.

  What the fuck.

 And then Shane was pulling away, dragging him by the hand to a small couch in the middle of the room.

 “Shane, wha—“ Ryan was cut off by a strangled moan as Shane pushed him back into the cushions, straddling his lap with practiced ease.

 Shane smiled against his neck, starting to trail soft kisses along his jawline as he began to unbutton Ryan’s shirt.

 “Fuck, Shane, I—“ he panted nonsensically, hands exploring whatever expanse of skin he could reach.

 As Shane sucked a small bruise just under his ear, Ryan’s shirt popped open, nipples immediately hardening under the cool air as Shane began to grind softly down onto him, mouthing a hot line up his neck and clavicles.

 “Please, please,” Ryan moaned, reaching out for him. In his clouded mind, he wasn’t even fully aware of what he was asking for until he found it in between Shane’s parted lips. He  sighed into the kiss, hands cupping Shane’s cheeks as his settled on Ryan’s shoulders, rutting dirtily against the front of his jeans. Ryan gasped into the kiss, a strangled moan torn out of his lips as Shane drew his fingers down to pad at his sensitive nipples.

 “Fuck!” he groaned, thrusting his hips up to meet his movements.

 “Someone’s sensitive,” Shane murmured in his ear, placing a teasing bite along his jaw.

 “Shane, Shane,” he breathed, eyes rolling back into his head.

 And then Shane took one pec into his mouth and Ryan Bergara was a dead man.

 “Ohhh!” he borderline whined, clawing at Shane’s smooth back as he nipped at the bud, laving his tongue over it and mouthing hotly between his sternum.

 He ground down once, twice, and eyes glittering, placing his mouth over his sensitive nipple, he reached down with his free hand and squeezed the bulge pressing against the zipper of Ryan’s jeans. With one plaintive moan and a stuttered,  Shane, Ryan bucked his hips up and stilled, wide-eyed and flushed pink under the soft lights, “I just came in my pants,” he said suddenly. “Oh my god.”

 Shane cracked up, slumping against Ryan and burying his nose in his shoulder, “Oh my god, Ryan.”

 “It’s not my fault you’re so hot!” he said defensively, clinging onto Shane as he blanketed his body warmly, pressing him into the couch. He pressed a small kiss to his exposed neck, and Shane smiled.

 “I’m never letting you live this one down,” he wheezed, clapping him once on the ass, “I guess the viewers were right about your nipple thing.”

 “S-Shut up, Shane,” he muttered, pinching him in the arm.

 Shane huffed out a laugh against his neck and as the air stilled, he shut his eyes, “So...should we talk about this?”

 Ryan shifted underneath him, “Nah,” he said groggily, leaning into his touch, “let’s do that when I haven’t had five brewskis.”

 “Five?” Shane laughed, “Your frat boy habits die hard, Ryan. You’re gonna be a real menace tomorrow.”

 “Well,” Ryan said slowly, tracing a line down his back, “maybe you should come home with me and make sure my morning is tolerable.”

 “Oh yeah?”

 “Yeah,” Ryan said, feeling emboldened with each inch he grew closer to Shane, high off the post-orgasm bliss and the smell of Shane’s cologne warm and sweet against his skin.

 Shane grabbed his ass, “I fuckin’ love Steven Lim.”

 As Ryan dissolved into laughter, he couldn’t help but share the sentiment. And that night when he and Shane walked out of the bar hand-in-hand, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was Steven’s plan all along.

(send me a request!)