#but like. seriously the whole. you will gain new desires every day! thing. sobs

[figofswords]

i know ive made myself the #1 izutsumi stan in the eyes of all of my friends and probably some of you online people but what if i became a mithrun stan. there is something about him that compels me. i just want to *clenches fist* put him on the drying rack. lovingly stick him into a tupperware for later. make him into. a broth of some sort. do you understand

[rotworld]

2: Centaur

it’s said that only pure virgin maidens can call a unicorn, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

->explicit. contains horse genitalia, weird sex magic to enable human-to-horse genitalia compatibility, dubcon/noncon, semi-public sex, implications of mind-altering magic, gore, murder, kidnapping.

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You’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

The meadow is in full bloom, a sea of brilliance. Here, a profusion of daisies. There, a carpet of poppies. Asters and yarrow and little clovers, flowers you’ve never heard of, colors you didn’t know existed, bloom as far as the eye can see. There are starbursts, blue as the sea, that smell of salt and sand, and cones of pink blossoms that glitter in the light. Petals dance in a gentle breeze like prismic rain, carrying a soft, sweet scent. It feels like a dream. You’re knee-deep in flowers beneath a cloudless sky.

“This is impossible,” you say softly, afraid to disturb the peace. Your fingers graze a curving stem, heavy with bluebells. “It’s autumn. The leaves should be turning. How is everything so green?” 

The king’s men sigh tiredly, looking uncomfortable and terribly out of place in their clanking armor. “Unicorn,” they say, the only word they seem to know. Why are the winds so gentle here, spring-sweet and warm? Unicorn. Why is the water crystal clear and sparkling, the perfect temperature for both a quenching drink and a quick rinse of your dirtied hands? Unicorn. Why couldn’t you see the meadow until you crossed the river and passed a certain willow tree? Unicorn, obviously. They shake their heads at you like you don’t know anything.

“Sit here,” one of them tells you, pointing to a spot among the daffodils. 

Another one stops you just as you’re kneeling in the grass. “No, no, wait, over there is better. There are lilies. Lilies are a symbol of virginity.”

“I think the roses would be best,” a third chimes in. “Seems very maiden-like, doesn’t it? That’s what a maiden would pick, I think, if a maiden were out here, picking flowers.” The other knights nod sagely. “Then it’s decided. Over there by the roses, please. Here, sit with your legs folded like this…”

You roll your eyes. You can’t believe how seriously they’re taking the stupid little details. This whole expedition is a lost cause. It doesn’t matter how much they pretty you up, dressing you in this flowing gown and making you wander barefoot among the flowers. You’re a sheepherder, not a waifish little girl. A unicorn can tell the difference. But the king must really be desperate, because the knights are insistent as they correct your posture, smooth out your hair, and inspect you from every angle.

“Good. Perfect,” one of them says, nodding at his handiwork. “We’ll get into position. Do,” he pauses, waving his hand vaguely, “maiden things. Sing songs. Braid your hair. Whatever it is maidens do.” You watch them clang and clatter away to the treeline, hiding poorly among the rocks and flower bushes. You relish in the space and freedom, flopping on your back in the grass. You couldn’t care less if a unicorn comes or not. The fields are yellowed and prickly at home, nothing like the beautiful softness of this meadow. Your cousin agreed to watch your sheep for the day, so you don’t have a care in the world. You close your eyes and let eternal spring wash over you. 

You open your eyes to darkness.

You sit up slowly, groaning and groggy. You must’ve drifted off. Petals fall from your gown as you yawn and rub your eyes. Snoring drifts from the trees; the knights fast asleep. You stand up to stretch, only to find a new, fantastic landscape stretched before you. The meadow is tinged silvery blue in moonlight. New flowers, unopened buds just hours ago, bloom with a faint glow. A river of stars shines overhead. This must be the dream, you think, or maybe you’ve been dreaming since you crossed the river. Everything about the meadow is otherworldly, a place of beauty and gentleness unlike anything you’ve ever known.

And then you hear it. Softly at first and indistinct, but nearing, gradually louder. A rhythmic gait, too heavy for a human, too pronounced for fleshy feet. Hoofbeats. Your breath catches in your throat. You scramble to your feet and look around. Auroras shimmer above you, rippling ribbons of green. Night breeze blows across the meadow and the grass whispers at your ankles. You see him, trotting across the meadow. You see him and there are tears in your eyes. You realize you’ve never known beauty until this moment.

The unicorn is the color of night, black and deepest blue. His mane shimmers, woven with gemstones and glittering flower buds, and his horn shines like polished onyx. He is a man from the waist up, silver eyed and handsome. There are scars along his broad shoulders, puckered skin that healed a lighter gray. Beneath the waist, muscle twists and transforms into long equine legs. His gait is leisurely, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“My oh my, what do we have here?” he says. His voice is velvety smooth and alluring. Your apprehension melts away even as he stops before you, his front legs bending so you’re face to face. A heavy, coat-like fabric rests across the back of his horse body, royal purple and delicately embroidered with intricate floral patterns. He reaches for you, slender fingers curling along your jaw. You’re sure of it now. This is all just a dream. The unicorn chuckles, a warm and rumbling sound that fills you with heat. “You’re wide awake, little one.”

“You can read my thoughts?” 

“I can read more than that.” His smile widens and he stands to his full height. You fidget nervously as he walks in a slow circle around you, a hand beneath his chin. His hooves kick up petals and glittering pollen with every step. “Hmm, let’s see...a shepherd! How precious. What gentle hands. Ah, but a solitary life. You’ve not known a lover’s touch in quite some time.” Your face heats in embarrassment. His palm trails across your back as he passes behind you, squeezing your shoulder. 

“I thought unicorns only came to pure maidens,” you say. His every touch sends sparks across your skin. You can feel his warmth through the flimsy, thin fabric of your gown. At that, his smile gains a sharp edge, almost predatory. It’s gone as quickly as it came.

“What a delight you are,” he murmurs. “Coming all this way was worthwhile after all.” He begins to walk and you follow without being asked. There are flowers all around you but you pay them no mind now, too entranced by the beautiful creature beside you. You don’t know if you go far or not, time and distance rendered meaningless in the dreamlike embrace of the meadow. He leads you to a large, mossy rock formation, the stone sheared away to leave an unnaturally flat surface. You look back over your shoulder, remembering the knights. Did they sleep through all of this? Should you say something? The unicorn’s hand cups your chin, dragging your gaze back to him. His breathtaking smile obliterates all thoughts of anything else. 

“The stories are an exaggeration,” he tells you. He guides you gently, hands on your shoulders, to sit on the stone. His legs fold beneath him and he sits, his hands carding through your hair. The affection and desire in every touch, every gentle scratch of his fingers against your scalp, makes you hotter. “We appear to whomever we wish to appear to. But I confess, some of us do have a soft spot for virgins.” He presses a sharp kiss to your lips, nipping at you. “We enjoy teaching them pleasure,” he hisses, and pushes you suddenly onto your back. The gown is pulled from your body, discarded in the grass. Night air caresses your bare skin and you squirm beneath his wandering gaze.

Somehow, it only occurs to you now what his intentions are. The gentle caresses, the sensual touches and the heat in his gaze didn’t feel real. They still don’t, but now, naked and at the mercy of his hungry eyes, you understand. “You...you want me?” you say, your voice small in embarrassment. When you say it out loud, it sounds even more ridiculous, but there’s no mistaking this. He rests his arms across your abdomen, gazing up at you with fondness and longing. 

“I do,” he says. “Very, very much. Would you let me have you?” 

You bite your lip, your body trembling as he slips a hand between your legs and just grazes your sex with his fingertips. The touch is teasing, too fleeting, and leaves you aching for more. You nod shakily and he hums, pleased at your acquiescence. “What’s your name?”

He looks rather charmed that you asked, warmth filling his gaze. “I am Myurva,” he says. You give him your name in return and the way he says it back to you, the lascivious purr, makes you squirm. The unicorn rests his hands on your knees, gently but firmly easing them apart. “Spread your legs for me, lovely. I want to see you.” 

Myurva’s seduction is slow and patient even as you writhe and beg him for more. He opens you on his fingers, soothing your frenzied whimpers with sweet nothings and loving whispers of your name. You’ve never been treated with such devotion, such smothering lust and affection. He touches you like the love of his life, kisses tenderly and messily, drags his hand along your side and savors the way you move for him. “So very worth it,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. He has two fingers inside you, caressing your walls and curling just right to reach the spot that makes you shriek. “How fortunate I am to have found you, lovely. I want to keep you. I want to spoil you each and every night.” 

You’re keening for him, sobbing with need, when he flips you onto your stomach. You hardly notice. You spread your legs when you feel his hands on you, kneading your ass. Everything is hot and electrifying, hazy with pleasure. Then his front hooves land heavily in the grass near your head and something enormous rubs against you. “Wait,” you say shakily. You hear a chuckle above you. The fleshy end of Myurva’s cock slides against your ass, smearing precum along your spine. Your heart skips a beat feeling the sheer size of it against you. There’s no way. It’s impossible. You try to push yourself up on your elbows and one of his hooves stamps dangerously near your head. 

“I thought you wanted me, lovely,” he says. He thrusts again, the length of him slipping between your thighs and grinding against your sex. “If you move, I’ll have to chase you. You won’t get far.” 

“You won’t fit,” you tell him, voice pitched in desperation. Trying to squirm just makes him rest his weight against you, crushing you between the stone and the bulk of his body. “You’re going to break me!”

“I’ll go slow,” Myurva purrs. He demonstrates with a slow grind, a gradual roll of his hips. His heated flesh feels so good against you. “I’ll be so, so careful with you. Don’t you remember the stories? I enjoy virgins. I haven’t harmed a single one. They wander the woods in search of me, begging to feel my cock again.” You hear his back hooves shifting, repositioning behind you. He lines himself up and his cock prods against your opening. “Let me show you,” he urges. “Let me bring you pleasure you’ve never known.” He grinds against you again, hot pressure building as he begins to push inside. You gasp his name, beg him to wait, to go slow, to give you a moment to collect yourself, but he chuckles and presses harder.

Your nails rake against the stone and your vision whites out. The burn of the stretch becomes a tingling sensation, numb at first and then blindly pleasurable, lighting sparks in your belly. It shouldn’t be possible but you feel the head inside of you. The pain is a dull ache but every movement chases it away, pleasure washing over you. He rocks his hips and the steady, shallow thrusts push him deeper. True to his word, he fucks into you agonizingly slowly, panting and moaning

“How do you feel, lovely?” he asks, his voice strained. He’s holding back, you realize, his hooves stomping restlessly as he makes small, unconscious thrusts to feel you wrapped around him. “Let me in deeper. Let me fuck you properly. You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think he can get deeper. You try to tell him as much, but a hard thrust knocks the breath out of you. The fullness makes your head spin. You feel yourself pushing back against him despite all of the sensations, the ache inside of you, the impossibility of the whole situation in the back of your mind. He makes a breathy, choked sound and then laughs, fucking you harder. “Ohhh, that’s it. Just like that. I knew you’d love this.” You can hear his cock slamming into your body, can feel the weight of his heavy balls slapping your ass with every thrust. You feel like a cocksleeve, a snug toy for him to fuck. The force of his thrusts drags you back and forth over the stone, scraping up your chest, but the pain is nothing compared to the pleasure he gives you. 

Someone is screaming, crying Myurva’s name into the night. You barely recognize your own voice, the needy pitch, the tremor in every word. You’re so full, so unbearably stuffed with cock, no longer trying to meet his thrusts but letting him move you, ruining you for any human partner. Your knees bruise on the stone. Your toes curl. Your cries build to a frenzied crescendo and you cum impaled on his enormous cock, shaking, panting his name.

“Lovely,” he moans, an obscene sound leaving his lips as your inner muscles clamp down on his cock. “Gods above, darling, I’m going to fill you.” He fucks you wildly, no rhythm, no caution, his whole cock slamming into you as hard and deep as he can get. You can’t move. The whole world turns white-hot and blinding. You go limp, gasping weakly as Myurva begins to grunt, his cock pulsing, his whole length crammed inside you.

You thought you were full already, but then he cums. You feel him straining on top of you, his whole weight thrown forward as he fucks ropes of thick cum into your body. It foams up around his length and makes obscene, slick sounds. You feel it overflowing, trickling down your thighs. It feels like it goes on forever, his moans, his deep, straining thrusts, his cock pouring more and more cum into your body until his balls empty and he finally, with a satisfied sigh, pulls out. 

You make an undignified sound at the sudden emptiness, and the rush of cum that follows. You’re grateful for the stone beneath you, cool against your sweat-soaked skin. Your legs are jelly. You don’t know if you’ll ever walk again. Myurva’s front hooves lift, stepping back from the stone. His human hand caresses your cheek. “You’re truly something, lovely,” he says quietly. “I spoke in jest of keeping you, but now...it’s difficult to resist the temptation.” 

You try to speak but only manage an incoherent murmur of noise. He chuckles and strokes your hair. Distantly, you’re aware of other noises than the two of you. Shouting. Footeps. Clattering steel. You remember suddenly that you aren’t alone out here, arms struggling to lift you. The knights. How could you forget? Shame heats your face. How long have they been awake? How much did they see? How much did they hear? Myurva shushes your protests, pressing a gentle hand on the small of your back. “Rest,” he says. You don’t think you’re capable of doing much else, anyway.

You hear a commotion behind you. The knights, shouting in outrage, drawing swords. Are they going to hurt Myurva? Your eyes widen and you try again, uselessly, to lift yourself and see what’s happening. The unicorn gives you one last gentle caress and leaves you, his hoofbeats stopping somewhere between you and the knights.

“At last, you show yourself!” the knights exclaim. You manage to roll onto your side, craning your neck to see them surrounding Myurva, but he doesn’t look concerned. He glances around, examining each of the men. 

“Let’s see,” he murmurs. “Subjects of King Cornelius. And you want…” The corner of his lips twitch in amusement. “A hostage? Is that right? Your people have no claim over our mountains. A hostage will not change this. My king does not negotiate.” His words are ignored. The knights are wary but they do not back down. You feel like a fool. Why didn’t you ask them what they wanted the unicorn for? You assumed it was something trivial, a silly princess who wanted a pet. Nothing like this. 

Myurva glances back at you. His silver eyes catch the moonlight and glint dangerously. Those are a predator’s eyes, you realize. A thing that hunts and stalks the night. “You worry for me, lovely?” he purrs. “Your every emotion is so tender. I really must keep you. But, alas,” he chuckles, turning back to the knights, “business first, my sweet.”

You hadn’t looked all that carefully at the fabric across the back of his body. You hadn’t noticed the sword sheaths hanging there, hidden beneath the drapes and tassels. You hear steel scraping steel as he unsheathes twin blades, long and curved, as strikingly silver as his eyes. One of the knights tries to say something. “Come quietly,” or some other meaningless thing. He never finishes speaking. You hardly see Myruva move. A flash of silver, a rush of air; that’s all it takes. The knight’s head falls from his shoulders, and his body sinks to the ground soon after. The others begin to scream and scatter, but they’ll never get away. There’s no outrunning a unicorn. 

Laying there upon the stone, you see everything. Prey fleeing and predator giving chase. Swords clashing. Flesh pierced and mangled. Myurva tramples one of them, snaps the man’s ribs with glee in his shining eyes. Their armor does nothing but trap them in slow, awkward shells, easy prey to catch and dismantle. The unicorn moves like a whirlwind across the meadow, death his shadow. Blood soaks the soil and splatters the flowers, almost black in the night. 

You’re on your knees when it’s over, hunched over the stone with your legs in the grass. You can’t stand. You can’t run. You can’t do anything but turn and see Myurva standing there, fresh blood dripping from his swords. He smiles at the sight of you, the shivers wracking your body. “You didn’t know,” he assures you. “I can read you, remember?” He wipes the blood from his blades, sheathing them at his side once again. You flinch when he comes closer, sitting in the grass beside you. You smell the carnage on him. The fingers that tuck your hair behind your ear are wet and warm. “Pleased to meet you,” he purrs. “I’m Myurva, the royal spymaster. And you are the loveliest little human I’ve ever seen.”

You protest weakly when he scoops you up in his arms, standing suddenly. You’re vaguely aware of moving, of being carried somewhere. You fight to cling to consciousness, but it’s slowly slipping out of your grasp. “Hush,” Myurva coos, kissing your forehead. “We’ve a long ways to go and you’re in no condition to ride me just yet. But, eventually…” He chuckles, one of his hands cupping your backside. “Eventually, we’ll have all the time in the world to do whatever we like, won’t we?”

[cullxtheherd]

Dammit, I'm too soft and need my comfort boys now! 😭

Can I get “No one’s kissed me like that in a long time.” for Sharky, my dear pyromaniac boy? ❤

hell yeah you friggin can!!! thank, thank, thank you for sending me this ask!! i haven't proofread SHIT!! i took my medicaiton and i need a nap!!! asakdjskdsk this is uh? what most would call NSFW, enjoy!

“Woah, woah Chica-” Charlemagne grips the condensation laden bottle by its end and its past peeling sticker. The texture lies somewhere between off putting and comforting and he runs the pad of his thumb over one of the wrinkled corners, “Hold on now I-hCc!” Despite being a well seasoned drinker something must not have sat right with him this evening and he hiccups twice before he can continue.

“What was I sayin’?'' It comes out as one word on one hopps laden breath and he refocuses on his drinking partner for the time being, “Oh, yeah!” He hikes a finger into the air vaguely in her direction with one eye half closed, leaning on the rounded edge of the bartop, “We hardly even know each other, Little Miss!” With the bottle halfway to his lips he abruptly stops, one finger uncurling to point at her as well, “And I do declare-hmnn-hmm-hmm!”

Sharky can’t hardly help himself on a good day and he starts laughing. First he does try to subdue it, face pinching with the effort but he does release a painful snort, “I’m sorry,” He tries between a hoot, “I can’t even take my own damn self seriously- did you hear what I was even trying to say? I mean, woo-hoo!” He laughs again at the thought, cheeks and neck reddening with rising hilarity, “Me. Charlemagne Victor Boshaw the FOURTH!! Tellin’ an interested woman what’s for.”

“Well, I mean!” He realizes himself too late and he sputters trying to backtrack, bottle at his lips for a swish before he continues, “That is not to say that I am assumin’ nothin’ when it comes to that or you and me- and hey!” Feeling like he’s really only caught his first good, decent look at his comrade for the night, he tries to concentrate around the blurred, starry edges of his vision. “Hang on now, you remind me of somebody.” His face screws up in a look of near constipation, gears grinding and turning - trying desperately to form a single, cognitive thought, “I know you…”

“Aww,” Her voice is low and pitying, sickeningly sweet, “Sharky.” Tinged with a hint of hopeful disappointment, “You should just stop thinking.” She swivels in her seat, one leg folded neatly over the other and a halo of blonde shining under the overhead lights, “Just,” She inches closer, just slightly, forever luring him in but never setting the hook, “Hush that pretty head of yours and have another drink. It is,” The lines around her eyes set when she giggles far more youthful than her appearance, “On the house, after all.”

“Yeah,” He agrees though he isn’t particularly thirsty and when a bottle is pressed to his lips he takes a lengthy swig, fully trusting the woman he’s been speaking to. “I should,” So entranced is he that he hardly realizes the switch off. New bottle, different shape, “You’re right.” Directly from her hands to his mouth this time. “That’s an excellent idea-” He wants to elaborate but the thoughts leave him and he watches, happily, as someone he is sure he should know briefly interrupts their little two-person soirée.

“Yes,” He catches her saying, “Yes Father.”

The way she looks up at him with an unmatched, heady desire sparks a tight, hateful twinge somewhere deep within him and suddenly, without thought or warning, he’s getting up out of his seat- nearly jumping backwards off of his bar stool. He doesn’t say anything but he holds himself on edge, breath heavy and chest tight. Ready for what, he isn’t sure.

His new friend gets up as well. Slowly and placatingly she approaches him. Tiptoeing barefoot around the toppled stool she rests on her heels in front of him, pads of her pointers tracing the raised, bubble lettering of his sweatshirt. “Shame,” She sounds sad and heartbroken as she looks up at him through her lashes, “Things were going so well, wouldn’t you say?”

Though he is struggling through the haze, trying to break free from the control she has on him he finds himself nodding along, mouth opening, “Yes, I would.”

“Tonight was going to be the night, Charlemagne,” There is an almost supernatural, haunting tone to her voice that coats him to his very soul- viscous and charming is she, “The. Night.” She pouts feigning a sob into his chest and, despite the dread creeping in he embraces her, palms smoothing over the lines of her gauzy, lace dress. “Do you understand what that means?”

Sharky doesn’t respond verbally but his fingers tighten, digging into the curve of her shoulders underneath a layer of fabric that reminds him of the floral doilies his grandmother kept on surfaces around her home.

“You and me, together,” Though he is gaining his wits his heart aches for that statement, “Forever.” She spins once, heavenly, between his arms and humming, “It could be Bliss, you know.”

She looks up at him and though he knows he should make a move to run- leave this place and never look back, he dips his head instead. When their lips meet it is other-worldly. Charlemagne feels like blasting off into space with Larry and whatever that damn computer's name is he’s always talking about.

Though they are by no means alone, anything rooted in reality ceases to exist for him. They could be in the middle of a field, tornado overhead- bottom of a mountain with an avalanche barrelling down and he would be none the wiser. Sharky had never been one to buy into the whole ‘time stops’ theory when it came to being with another person and sharing intimacy, but? He is becoming a believer as the seconds tick by.

When they pull apart, each of their chests heaving for breath he takes a long, wisened look at her. This is? The enemy. Without a doubt- make no mistakes about it. This is wrong.

She opens her mouth to say something but unthinking and working solely on drive Charlemagne pushes forward, rearing her into the wall of, what he is now aware is, not a licensed retail establishment. The bus turned Peggie jungle gym decorating the center of Moonflower Trailer Park creaks and groans with the voracity in which he attaches himself to her.

In the many times he’d dared to imagine a similar scenario he at least envisioned some kind of refusal or rebuttal from the female Herald but she leans into him, eager to respond. Sharky pulls away, flustered lips biting a line down the side of her mouth to her chin. At her neck he particularly digs in, hands tying into her hair tightly.

“No one’s kissed me like that in a long time,” She’s a mixture of cross and ashamed, hands wrung tightly in the curled hairs at the nape of his neck, “Bastard.”

“Should leave you with a little somethin’ for Padre Joe, in that case.” He moves in as her mouth opens to object, teeth rough on the tender bend of her neck. A hand travels the curve of her ass, bringing her in closely as she responds.

“Sharky . . .”

He’s never heard a creature as ethereal as her breathless before and it takes battling an excellent sense of self preservation to make a line of mottled, swollen hickeys in every tender, erogenous zone he can manage to get to. “You like that?” As the Bliss really begins to leave him he does have the sense to start getting angry with her and her tricks despite their current entanglement.

She nods her agreement, little huffs of air tickling the short hairs on the side of his neck but it isn’t quite the type of affirmation he’s looking for.

“Let’s see, then.” With nearly any other woman he would likely not be this assertive but this is the second time she’s tried to drug him and take advantage of him to get him to join their stupid wacky cult and? He’s not concerned about pleasantries or anything resembling normalcy. The hand at her rear ruchs up the back of her dress just enough so that he can trace the outline of her panties freely before snaking a finger inside, “Oh, yeah?”

She has the decency to look embarrassed and he smiles wide, pleased, “You get all hot and bothered thinkin’ of ways to get me to say Yes, don’t you?”

“I-” He shifts, moving to bring his hand to a more advantageous position and she makes a noise of protest, “No!”

Sharky raises a brow at her and the way her barefoot slaps the ground in rebuttal, “You sure about that?” Reaching between them he adjusts himself, purposefully slow to return his hand to the apex of her thighs. Alight with joy at the look of frustration it causes he relents, “Now,” The decommissioned school bus creaks when she tries to vy for leverage against his slow, lapping movements, “Think real hard before you answer me-”

“Yes! I do- I,” Rachel cuts herself off sucking in a large, shaking breath, “Ohh! I love thinking of ways to bring you down, Sinner! I- mmm!”

Charlemagne laughs silently, eyes creasing up in the direction of the moonlight. Toeing the line of stern and gentle he leans in, lips and tongue and careful teeth against her. Two small, hot hands grip the width of his wrist, keeping him there, when he tries to adjust his stance and he grins against her, sickeningly glad to know he is doing well for her.

Nose against the shell of her ear and mouth working on and off in time with his digits he speaks gently this time, starkly aware of what her reality must be, “How long has it been since a man treated you right?” Apparently unable to speak, she shakes her head in the negative, teeth pinching her lower lip, “Never?”

“Shut up,” She barely manages.

“What?”

“I said shut up and fuck me, Charlemagne!”

His entire face screws up at that, her hazy spell broken. “No,” Sharky removes himself from her, head shaking in the negative, “Don’t think I will. Go home, Faith.”

“You can’t just stick your fingers in a woman and then tell her to get out, Sharky!”

“I can and I have and I will, Ma’am.” Taking a breath he releases what he’s debating on, “Not every guy wants it like that, Shorty.” Out of view within the bus behind her he reaches into the darkness, “Sooner you learn that,” He shrugs, looking stern though he is sporting quite the rock-hard erection, “Sooner we can do more than just talk.”

“Sharky-”

The shotgun blast dissipates the vision of her and he looks down at the barrel, nearly disappointed he hadn’t submitted and agreed to be turned into one of her newest pets, “Well. Least I got my twenty bucks worth.”

[spencers-renaissance]

A Chronicle of Loss

Summary: 5 people Spencer Reid lost and 1 person he gained. A look at the traumas Spencer faces over the series, and giving him the happy ending he deserves.

Tags: grief, loss, abandonment issues, insecurity, depression, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, getting together, ‘didn’t know they were dating’, protective derek, autistic spencer

TW: self-harm, drug addiction, grief

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

The Inescapable Unravelling (<)

1. William

Spencer’s only ten years old when he watches his father pack his bags in his parents’ bedroom, watches as he smiles sadly at the sorry sight of him and his mother begging him not to leave, only to ignore their pleas and walk out the door. He remembers the anxiety written on his mother’s face, the shame in her eyes at being left in such a cruel way, the uncertainty as to whether they’d cope without William like it’s branded onto his skin, an egregious mark he can’t ignore. 

Just like that, he became the man of the house. He became the voice of reason, the sensible one, the person dealing with Diana’s episodes, all while balancing his school work in a desperate attempt to live a different life to the one he existed in as a child. 

He knows it wasn’t solely Diana, or Riley Jenkins, or any average marital issue that caused him to leave, he knows it was partly that William simply didn’t know how to handle an autistic child prodigy. He had a genius son who struggled with communication, had no friends, and refused to engage in any of the bonding activities he came up with. In the end, Spencer being different only compounded his desire to leave and, eventually, he stopped suppressing it and gave in.

He’d never blame his mother, but her confusion in her episodes often sent him flying down half a flight of steps or clutching a stinging cheek or banging his head on a door frame. She called him clumsy and he didn’t correct her. She called him ‘crash’ and he accepted the nickname. Without William there, he was completely and utterly alone, left to deal with the grief of losing a father and a schizophrenic mother who struggled to look after herself, let alone him. 

He still thinks about it all these years later. He thinks about what his father said to Diana when he left: “you refuse to take care of yourself.” He reflects on the fact that he was well aware Diana wouldn’t be able to take care of him, that he would be left to fend for himself, that a 10 year old can’t provide adequate mental health support no matter how hard he tries, and he still left. He thinks about what that meant, how little his father actually cared for him. 

He still thinks about it, and he still cries. His first encounter with grief, and he was only 10 years old. 

2. Innocence

Spencer had joined the BAU at 22: three PhDs under his belt and a lifetime of expectation on his shoulders, but somehow he’d managed to remain the most innocent member of the team throughout the first few years of his job. Until Tobias Hankel had taken it and completely obliterated any shreds of naivete he had left. 

Of course, he knew evil. He’d even experienced it first-hand, he’d been viciously bullied growing up and he’d encountered his fair share of violent, deranged serial killers, but Tobias -- or, more accurately, Charles and Raphael -- introduced him to evil on a completely new scale. The pain and fear that had tormented him in that cabin lived in a secluded, festering part of his psyche, reproducing at a terrifying rate in his memory, never resting, never quieting, unless dilaudid was streaming through his veins. 

His innocence was gone; there was only darkness, loneliness, corruption, and he was grieving for something he’d never get back. His life was now separated into two distinctly different eras, marked only by his kidnapping, by the cruel torture he’d been subjected to. 

Along with his innocence, he’d lost his relationships, he’d lost the family he’d found and loved so dearly. Nobody tried to help him escape the clutches of his PTSD or addiction, he felt like he was drowning right in front of his friends while they talked and laughed among themselves, muffling his desperate cries for help, and the frustration and abandonment joined the pain and fear in their festering corner of his mind. 

He eventually gets clean, he eventually recovers. But he’s never the same. He’s forever tainted by the actions of one man -- a man he struggled to blame -- and he can’t help but mourn the life he had before Tobias, the optimistic, brightly coloured world-view he used to hold before it was ripped up, stamped on, and burned to ashes right before his eyes. 

3. Gideon

Gideon leaves. Gideon leaves and the blow is almost as crushing as it was when he was ten. His mentor, his father figure, his friend abandons him with no warning, no goodbye. It hurts that he didn’t think Spencer worthy of anything more than a useless fucking letter that he left for him in a cabin because he knew that Spencer loved him enough to drive out there and find it; he knew that Gideon was much more special to Spencer than he ever was to him.

This pain feels almost worse because he’s surrounded by people feeling the same way, if to a less extreme extent. He finds himself comparing himself to Hotch, Derek, the whole team: it makes him feel as though he’s overreacting when even Penelope, arguably the most emotive member of the BAU, seems back on her feet within a few days and Spencer still feels as though he’s been hollowed out and all his insides replaced with the smouldering ashes of grief filling him up, weighing heavy in his stomach, climbing up his throat and choking him. 

He drags his feet, he doesn’t sleep, he drinks coffee, he runs on auto-pilot. Others notice, of course they do, but there’s nothing any of them can say to make it better, not even Hotch when he’s pulled into his office and sternly told that he needs to open up. Spencer just looks at him with empty, exhausted eyes and shrugs. Weeks ago, he would’ve cried but there aren’t anymore tears to cry, he’s reached a truce with himself. He isn’t happy but he isn’t crushingly depressed anymore: he feels nothing, an abyss of grey matter circling around inside him as he struggles to perform basic functions. 

“It’ll get better, kid,” Derek says seriously one day when he sits down at his desk, dullness settled deep in his eyes and numbness deep in his veins. It doesn’t feel like it. 

Rossi joins the team and he’s nothing but cold towards Spencer and the rejection only adds insult to injury, and nobody seems to care. His stomach hurts all the time and he’s losing weight again, he knows, but he can’t seem to put any effort into anything at all, least of all trying to be happy, trying to look after himself. 

He’s lost his protector and he’s replaced by another person who sees him as an intentional but irritating robot to be used and discarded, not thought of again until another geographical profile is required, or an obscure fact would help the investigation. The agony of existence for almost a year after Gideon’s disappearance feels almost too much to bear, even if Rossi does warm up to him, even if he does eventually begin to heal and forgive. It’s the first time grief almost kills him, and he isn’t even mourning the dead. 

4. Emily

Emily’s death tears him apart. For the first time since the year after Hankel, he considers many things. He buys dilaudid and fiddles with the bottle every evening, torn between the sweet relief he knows would be guaranteed the second it’s flooding his bloodstream and the torment of knowing it was Emily who helped him get clean the first time, how disappointed she’d be if she knew he was throwing away all those hours she put in, disregarding the belief she had in him. 

He holds a razor over the top of his thighs and slashes as deep as he can bear, daydreams about burying the blade deep enough to slice open his femoral artery and give up, embrace the darkness that’s been living inside him for years anyway. But he can’t stand the grief it would bring JJ, losing another sibling to suicide, even if he isn’t blood related. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone but himself, but it’s so cripplingly tempting and the frustration at not being able to give in to any of his darker fantasies has him tearing his heart out. 

Instead he cries, sobs, weeps, over the death of his best friend, shouts in anger at the unfairness of Emily’s life being taken by a dirty criminal while he gets to live as she’s six feet under, dark and cold in the ground. Images of her beautiful face he loved so much rotting away, turning into something grotesque and mangled roam around in his brain and he berates himself relentlessly for not appreciating her wide grin and teasing eyes more, hates himself for not appreciating every single moment with her that he could. 

And when she miraculously rises from the dead, he can’t even appreciate it because he feels as though he’s lost another friend. JJ, the one person he tried every day to live for, pictured in his mind every time he considered ending everything, had deceived him, had held him while he cried, held a cool washcloth to his forehead after he threw up from the force of his crying and the extremity of his grief, had watched him writhe in agony, all while having the power to stop it and doing nothing. 

The betrayal dizzies him: he doesn’t know who he can trust and the shock of Emily’s return leaves him reeling. He’s cold to the people he loves, and he can’t rejoice in Emily’s return, can’t sit down with her and chat like they used to, or hug her again, or joke with her, or prank Derek together. Again, he’s drowning and this time everyone’s focus is on him but he’s refusing their hands reaching out to help, stubbornly accepting his fate, too scared to take an outstretched arm in case it lets him go again. Surely the cold darkness of the cruel waters is kinder than another rejection or deception?

Finally, finally, he decides to trust one hand and he’s pulled above the waters again, not quite out of the ocean but at least he can breathe. Eventually, he finds the strength to walk to shore and he’s wrapped up in Emily’s strong arms, burying his face in her hair and swearing he’ll never let go again. 

5. Alex

He never, not for a moment, blames Alex for her decision to let go. If anything he admires her for it, he’s proud she made the right decision for her and her family, and at least he saw this one coming. He’s lost enough people by this point that the loss doesn’t ache and burn and fester in the way it used to, and they stay in contact; they have a bi-weekly FaceTime call and she texts him memes that he doesn’t understand and book recommendations regularly. 

But that’s not to say that losing his maternal figure on the team, the woman who he’d connected with the fastest out of any BAU member, who had understood him in a way no-one else could, who loved and cared for him like a son, doesn’t stab him in the gut. 

He’d take a bullet for absolutely everyone on the team, but he hadn’t taken a bullet for Alex out of some misguided loyalty to a coworker or because she was a member of the BAU, he’d taken a bullet for her because she was the best person he knew, and - plain and simple - some inner, more primal instinct within him wanted to save her life. And she’d stayed with him at the hospital, a little due to her guilt, a little due to her seeing Ethan in him, but mostly because she loved him. 

And he loved her. So seeing her walk down those stairs and knowing she wouldn’t walk into the bullpen the next morning - no matter how much he knew that this was the right thing for her to do - left him feeling hollow again, a little broken, a lot sore. He missed her deeply, both because she was an amazing asset to the team, but also because she’s a beautiful person who brought sunshine to his gloomy world. She had an indescribable talent for making him happy, and he felt her absence in his every-day life bitterly.

Although she’s still around, she still finds ways to brighten his day, still has some creepy telepathic ability to know when he’s down and exactly how to make him feel better, it’s another loss to add to the many he’s somehow managed to have collected over the years. And he can’t seem to tell the grief in his heart any different. 

At least this time it can be temporarily alleviated by a text message. It’s more than he could have asked for, really. 

The Gradual Intertwining (>)

+1 Derek

He falls in love with Derek like the kind of slow and steady drizzle that’s almost indistinguishable from heavy mist; so easily confused for the ordinary, familiar platonic feelings he’s harboured for years. It’s because of this that he doesn’t put up an umbrella, he continues walking as he’s gradually soaked in deep, entrenched yearning, until one day, he finally realises it’s raining. 

It’s on the morning of Rossi’s 60th birthday party that it finally clicks and, suddenly, it’s obvious. He let Derek carry him to bed last night after he fell asleep watching a movie, for God’s sake: he’d even woken up on the way but faked it just so he wouldn’t put him down. He’s known for years that a 187 IQ doesn’t mean his emotional intelligence is excellent, too, but this feels ridiculous even for him. He’s practically been in a relationship for years and he had no idea. This must be why he always got that strange feeling in his stomach when Derek talked about literally anybody else.

This is not an ideal realisation to come to when Derek is currently cuddled around him, about to wake up any minute. Spencer tries very hard not to think about the fact that he won’t blink an eye at their entwined limbs and what that means, but he’s not exactly in control of his thoughts right now. 

He feels like he sleepwalks through the morning, trying to pay attention to what Derek talks to him about as he cooks him breakfast, but his mind has sort of short-circuited, not knowing how to adapt to this new information. His brain is not equipped to process being in love, and zoning out is as good a coping mechanism as any for now. It’s not until they head back to the bedroom to get dressed and ready for the day that he snaps out of it.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says loudly, clicking his fingers in front of Spencer’s face to get his attention. 

“Hm?” Spencer hums, feeling the world fade back into focus despite the haze of confusion still dizzying him somewhat. 

“Alright, you’ve been spacy with me all morning,” Derek says, shifting his weight slightly as he levels Spencer with an inquisitive gaze. He can’t help but feel a cool kind of dread pour down his spine at the idea of that look figuring him out. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Spencer says, forcing himself to snap back into action as he attempts to compartmentalise. “Just… didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

Derek looks doubtful but takes him at his word. “Okay,” he acquiesces. “Better get dressed, though. We’ve got a lot to get through today.”

“We do?” Spencer asks, ignoring the fact that he’s still stood in his ratty, oversized shirt and underwear in front of the man he’s deeply in love with, maybe for the sake of his sanity, maybe because he finds it hard to be embarrassed in front of Derek Morgan, not after all these years. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, like it’s obvious, “we gotta run to the grocery store and pick up a present for Rossi - probably some food for this barebones apartment of yours, too - pick up my clothes from the dry cleaners, and swing round Penelope’s to give her the blender I borrowed back. And I know for a fact you have some work to do on your latest paper, as well.”

Spencer, with his new perspective on the situation, considers the fact that Derek has included him in errands that are pretty exclusive to his own life. He also considers the fact that he never would have stopped to think this odd if he didn’t have the knowledge he has now. Unfortunately, simply considering does not shed much light on the situation. 

Because of this, Spencer does what he’s always done. He nods and gets ready for his day of driving around with Derek doing very mundane chores and wonders why he feels so excited. 

(While they’re out and about, it strikes Spencer why the realisation that he’s in love with Derek feels so paralysing: almost everyone he’s ever loved has left. He’s 34 and he’s never had a loving, committed relationship, and that’s for a reason: there’s only so much grief one heart can take. How could he ever give himself over to someone, hand them the key to his heart, open the door into his life, knowing that they could leave? Forever simply doesn’t exist, not for Spencer anyway. And truly, he doesn’t think he’d survive the loss of Derek, he can’t think of anything in the world that would be more painful.)

Despite the emotional exertion of the day, Rossi’s party is actually fairly enjoyable, probably aided by the glass of wine Spencer had accepted immediately upon entering the garden, he bloody well deserved it after the day he’s had. He gets chatting with JJ and Hotch and he barely even notices the absence of Derek by his side, having been roped into a conversation with Rossi and one of his famous poker friends that Spencer wouldn’t be able to place with a gun to his head. 

It’s not long before they reconvene though, programmed with some kind of homing instinct that always leads them back to one another, and Derek’s leaning a bit too close. Spencer finds it a little hard to breathe with his body pressed so close to his own, Derek’s warm, wine flavoured breath on his ear making his insides flip and setting butterflies free to roam his stomach. 

They spend the rest of the party like that, pressed away together in a corner, tucked inside one another’s pockets, and Spencer knows that he’s responsible for at least half of the instigation: he’s pressing back against Derek’s side with just as much pressure, leaning in closer, laughing a little louder, not bothering to hide the adoration that must be plainly written across his face. 

“Wanna come back to mine for a drink?” Derek asks as the night draws to a close, and how can Spencer refuse? They spend more nights together than apart at this point, and the last thing he wants is to feel lonely tonight, not after today.

“Please,” is all he says.

No-one says anything when they leave together, Derek’s hand loosely placed on his lower back. 

Derek’s apartment is warm and tidy, the opposite of Spencer’s, but it feels just as much like home as his own when he steps over the threshold. He’s about to tell him just that, but as he turns around to face him, Derek’s looking at him in a way he’s never seen before and his breath catches.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?” 

Derek steps a little closer, crowding into his space even more. “Can I kiss you?” he murmurs.

Spencer doesn’t bother answering, instead closing the gap on his own and pressing his lips to Derek’s. His hands go to Derek’s side on instinct but as he kisses back, Spencer feels one hand tangling itself gently in his hair, and another cupping his jaw and he gives way, melting into the touch. The whole thing goes right to his stomach, feeling it bottom out as the intensity of the moment threatens to overwhelm him before a small sound escapes Derek’s lips and he’s reminded who’s kissing him, whose hands are on him, who’s making him feel these things. All of a sudden, it’s easier to let go.

Their lips mould together as they collapse into one another, the final piece of the gradual intertwining of their lives and bodies over the last twelve years. A fire lights under Spencer and he feels his world tilt on its axis, except unlike previous life-altering experiences, this time it feels like its tilting into place, as though he’s been off-kilter this whole time, finally returned to his natural state. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this,” Derek whispers as they pull away.

“Why didn’t you kiss me sooner, then?” Spencer asks. 

“Today is the first day you knew you wanted it,” Derek replies, before he’s kissing him again. 

(Later that night, when they’re tucked into Derek’s bed, Spencer lies with his head on his chest, comforted by the steady, reassuring heartbeat as Derek whispers promises of forever into his hair. Spencer knows that nobody can ever really promise anything, but for the first time in his life, he decides it doesn’t matter. They’ll have to part some day, in one way or another - maybe Spencer will be the one to go first this time - but he realises that he’d rather have known Derek like this, to have known how it feels to love and be loved back, only to have him leave, than to have him stay and never know it at all.)

@criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

[emilyrosebass]

‘Too Hot to Handle’ and the Illusion of Self-Improvement Reality TV

We all know reality TV is messy—and that’s precisely why we love it. These shows scratch the most rewarding itch: Our carnal desire for drama. 

So why do so many reality television shows claim to have a bigger moral purpose? While the audience admits to watching for the meltdowns and blowouts, the shows still cling to aliases, often claiming to help their contestants achieve personal growth. 

Dozens of shows embrace the self-improvement format: Love Island and Are You the One invite sex-crazed commitment-phobes to find a person to seriously settle down with. The Bachelor (and, surprisingly, even its sensational spinoff Bachelor in Paradise) promises a tested path to true love, yet season after season, conflicts are touted more proudly than connections. The Circle aims to show that honest and humble people often gain more support IRL than influencers with the hottest profiles, while Love Is Blind proposes the most genuine romantic bonds are formed when physical appearances are left out of the picture. 

Yet, most of these shows actually aim to embarrass contestants for the very qualities they claim to eradicate. They frame entire seasons around contestants’ most undateable and unlikable moments—bursts of jealousy, impulsivity, ill-intention. 

This misalignment between motive and message is more obvious than ever in Netflix’s new dating show Too Hot to Handle, which challenged a notoriously debauched group of 20-somethings to abstain from all sex for a month for the opportunity to win a $100,000 cash prize. Breaches to the rules—kissing, heavy petting, and even masturbation—cost the whole group money. 

While claiming to help the one-night-stand-prone find a deep romantic connection, Too Hot to Handle actually mocks contestants for their promiscuity and lack of self-control. Every aspect of the show’s production sets contestants up to fail—not in an attempt to challenge them and help them grow, but because it’s more entertaining when they don’t. 

Despite its personal growth spiel, Too Hot to Handle openly favors the contestants who cause the most drama. The most screentime by far is awarded to Francesca—a siren seductress who loses the group the most money out of any individual player—and everyone she’s involved with. Unsurprisingly, the couples who make the most progress mentally and emotionally rarely appear on screen (Simply put, they’re less interesting.). And nothing cracks the show’s thinly-veiled self-improvement facade like the final award ceremony, when it’s announced [SPOILER ALERT!] Francesca would be allowed to share the cash prize despite showing no true signs of progress. Make it make sense!

But in the reality TV world, rewarding the villain makes perfect sense: Francesca’s antics made the show compelling, which was the outcome producers wanted all along. Rehabilitation never had anything to do with it. 

So why do networks so desperately cling to this mirage of self-help if the contestants aren’t actually expected to grow?  

The obvious disconnect between what we’re told vs. what we get with reality TV is designed to make the audience feel like they’re in the loop—like we’re privy to information the contestants aren’t. We know the self-improvement schtick is a ruse, but we’re led to believe the players are in the dark. 

Reality TV aficionado Sarah Willis reveals how this secretly functions, saying, “Self-awareness as a treat captures us even more than a wild story because it establishes trust. We feel comforted someone is calling attention to the ridiculousness of the characters’ behavior. By fixating on the individuals, we don’t question the system.”

By guiding us to focus on the individual contestants’ troubles, these shows avert our focus away from the messy details of their own construction. We’re directed to pay attention to the explosive meltdowns without looking too hard into the strategies producers used to coax these conflicts. 

Take Champagne-Gate, the infamous blowout between Bachelor contestants Kelsey and Hannah Ann prompted by a champagne bottle mixup, which became a main arc of season 24. Fed clip after clip of the prolonged fight—which involved multiple confrontations, bouts of sobbing, and a moment of near-redemption for Kelsey soiled by a burst of champagne to the face—viewers were meant to be too preoccupied watching Kelsey unravel to realize the whole thing was a setup. The spectacle of Kelsey’s overreaction was intended to outshine the producers’ obvious involvement (Now, many theorize they intentionally mixed up the bottles, knowing Kelsey’s champagne was saved for a special occasion.).

In Too Hot to Handle, we’re captivated by how vindictive Francesca is, how reckless Harry is, and how jealous Haley is, but never how orchestrated the show itself is. We aren’t given space to consider how forced abstinence impacts the contestants’ emotions to elicit unusually intense reactions (I’m not saying blue balls is real, but repeatedly revving up someone’s libido and then denying them physical contact is sure to affect a person’s hormones.). While some shows load contestants up with alcohol, Too Hot to Handle fires up their sex drives (and siphons them alcohol) to point and laugh at the results. 

While it’s clear there’s a disconnect between what reality television says it does and what it actually does, rectifying this misalignment wouldn’t necessarily make shows more enjoyable. Revealing every detail of production would actually be horrifying, as producers are notorious for insidious meddling—telling dating show leads how to act or who to pick, lying to contestants, using manipulative editing techniques, and likely much more than we’ll ever learn about. 

While the self-improvement mantra is obviously a front, it’s one we’re willing to ignore because we’d prefer to enjoy the plot. At the end of the day, nobody really wants to know the full reality of reality TV. That’s a whole different level of drama. 

[connywrites]

Eavesdropping

now on [AO3]

“Yeah, well, my mom was a piece of shit, and uh, my dad—oh yeah, he was a piece of shit, too,” Leo snapped, a familiar sign of finding it hard to stop talking shit once he started.

“Not to mention the whole, liking an android more than me, anyway,” he spat with the same fluctuation in his voice as he’d used the day he sauntered in with the expectation of more money; the day when Markus confronted him and his own father encouraged him to back down from his spat of violence. It didn’t matter what he did, how he did it or what measures he took to achieve what he wanted, whether Carl gave it to him or not– it was all he’d seen, wanted or cared for, so he’d go out of his way to do anything to obtain it.

Leo was a person that insisted on pushing forward, for better or worse. If he was challenged, he would tackle it head-on, even if it meant a worse demise for himself.

“But that’s just the complaint everyone has these days, isn’t it? At least it was before everything lead to shit and robots had their heads over ours. But hey, maybe that’s just my fucking problem, after–”

A strange sensation churned in his chest while his typical double personality fought against itself, leaving him to try and make a decision over ‘which Leo’ he would allow himself to be today. It depended on the moment, what he wanted, and which way would be the best to achieve his desires. Lying and telling stories were second nature to him, and exaggeration in his favor fit his sticky fingers like sterile gloves.

“You know what that piece of shit said to me?” He always did the annoying pause for emphasis after a prologue of words, knowing it riled up whomever he was talking to, a key role in his typical manipulation tactics. The more he spoke out loud, the more he fed into the rage still stirring within him, feeling the resurgence of bitter hatred seeping its way to the surface of his skin the same way it always did.

“You know, my dad was full of his own crap, but at least he was real,” he said in an intentional diversion from his original question as he’d already lost the thought.

“This thing…I dunno. It pretends. It pretends real well.” Whoever he was on the phone with seemed to encourage him as he rocked in his seat, leaning forward and speaking with dramatic prominence.

“And that’s like, that’s the point, right? It was made like that, and dad fell for it. Just like ev-er-y-bo-dy else,” he muttered in sharp, slow, spaced syllables, revisiting his misanthropic view of humanity as a whole to fuel the emotional fire.

“I don’t know what’s up, but it’s freaky, you know? I live here, with this thing that could kill me in my sleep. I can’t really explain it. Everyone was scared seeing him on TV, and I live with that, night and day. I could die like, you know, one of the cops in the street did or whatever. I mean, they shot him and took him to the junkyard and the freak came back from the dead, or whatever.”

It was too deep of a thought process, but now that he’d plunged into it, he couldn’t escape what he’d started.

“That’s what I mean. You don’t really know, and it’s not like they tell you.” While Leo couldn’t comprehend much about the politics involving Cyberlife, he had a basic understanding of why the majority of the population didn’t take a particular liking to androids. The shift of power was sudden, and in his own view, he felt like it was majorly his own fault—he’d been shoved to the ground with a concussion in the midst of a petty argument, they’d lost their father and before he knew it, he was sharing bus seats with different mechanical models sharing the same faces, pretending they had an identity in a serial number.

Human rights. New species. Something something, new life form. Freedom. The news reports still rang in his mind as it was all he saw and listened to while bound in the hospital bed that day, as well as the next three following. He’d woken with a bloody nose and no memory of what had happened, only recalling his crippled father hovering above him in fear, sobbing over what he had done and the fact Markus was missing and ‘in danger’. The way Carl spoke about both of them as if they were on equal ground was always strange to Leo, but he knew better than to assume his dad saw him as anything close to how he perceived Markus, thus never raising his hopes with the acknowledgement that he would ever measure up to a machine.

A specifically designed android, modern art with a specific goal in mind, something so precisely constructed down to its behavior and personality. Leo had no chance of fully grasping the degree of which Markus was finely tuned, as he’d only been able to see what was revealed to him. When he wasn’t thinking about the angle of the lifestyle Markus got to lead, he didn’t mind treating him as a person and often didn’t think too hard about it the more time went on. As soon as he could find a reason to use it as verbal bait or any kind of manipulation leverage overall, however, it didn’t matter what Markus had done or fought for; he was reduced to being useless plastic praised much too high in Leo’s personally opinionated mind.

-

“Why were you saying those things about me?”

Confrontation was one of the most difficult things for Leo, and now he was caught in the act, standing stiffly while his body wavered to one side with a bout of anxiety bringing him to tap his fingertips at his side, letting out a sigh, then two, and three. Shaking his head, he turned to leave; but a hand gripping his shoulder was quick to stop him as Markus stilled him with a moment of thought as the android paused to find eye contact, eyebrows narrowing with a stare of disbelief and an edge of anger in a final response to how Leo had been acting, just now as well as overall. Is this what Carl had gone through every time?

“Leo…are you talking about me differently, depending on who you’re speaking to? And how you want them to see me?”

Being called out made Leo feel guilty, and he hated guilt. It meant that not only was he wrong, but he was forced to acknowledge it. Resonating a sense of self-awareness, he was still tussling with between accepting who he was and following through as a better person, or trying to latch onto the uglier parts of himself that existed through old grudges and bad habits for the sake of ease.

There was something in the way that Markus stared at him, a certain sorrow in his eyes with the shift of his mouth into a frown – not one of anger or frustration, but of betrayal. How could Leo blame him? They’d spent this long together with Markus constantly at his side, helping him, teaching them how to handle new coping mechanisms and the lack of certainty that came with the death of a loved one, alongside the difficulties of quitting hard drugs. Sometimes Carl’s death was seemingly the only thing they had in common. Markus felt like he’d taken it much more seriously and heavily than Leo, but he’d seen from the young man’s emotional outbursts – even if they were small and far in-between, as Leo didn’t like being emotional or giving into those thoughts and feelings at all, which was what made them genuine and proved to Markus that what he thought and felt was real – he had his own sorrows haunting him over the matter. There was something in Leo that one would only recognize if they looked, squinted and dug around for, and that was the personality that was resilient, the Leo that wanted to live, to learn and to thrive, weighed down by his previous history, from family neglect to drug abuse leading up to felony charges. A badly manufactured firecracker waiting to be lit with a short fuse while it crackled up to one explosion after another, unexpected and abrupt with sparks flying everywhere. Sometimes it was a glorious display, but usually it was an awkwardly packed bundle of gunpowder in a crooked shell, bound to explode without warning and provide a show subpar to what was usually expected.

A disappointment. A dud. A weakness.

“Shut up,” Leo said in offense, as if Markus’ words were the wrong ones and he had been in the right to deflect them. Lowering his stature while the width of his shoulders tensed and squared, Markus glared at his brother with a gaze holding betrayal. Leo wasn’t exactly the type that was able to read people like books, but he figured if he put forth enough emotion, it would be harder for Leo to avoid, no matter how difficult of a time he had with body language or eye contact.

“I didn’t say anything,” Markus notified him firmly.

“You’ve been doing all the talking. I just don’t like what I’m hearing.” Surprising for Leo, Markus’ voice was soft to his ears, kind and with a slight edge that reminded him of someone that had been hurt – the usual way people responded once they realized you’d set them up for disappointment and used them to gain something for yourself, meanwhile shoving them under the bus in your favor, just as he’d been so many times before, an uncomfortable reminder that whether he liked it or not, Markus was emotive. He could feel, he could think, he could become sad or grow angry, and while Leo didn’t understand it even to the slightest degree, he emotionally crumbled faster than he could catch himself once the subject was brought to his attention. It was harder to be an asshole without the red ice blurring his vision in a berserk panic, leaving him with no choice than to consider what he’d said, and the damage it had already done.

Markus drew in a long, deep breath while he reminded himself that if he wanted to help and understand Leo, it would take patience, to a degree that was new and challenging to him. Sometimes he felt as though he’d finally cracked through the shell, gotten Leo to shine for who he truly was, following his better beliefs and feeling ambition to his core, the key component to fighting his addictions; and sometimes he felt like he’d worked so hard to chisel his way through, only for all the hard work to be shoved back into his face multiple times over. Maybe this was what made Leo so difficult to get along with, but with that thought, he knew that it was only that way because no one else tried to refuse his sly ways. Whoever Leo had known in the past let him get away with the lies, the twisted words and anger, the inflated ego, the pity parties, the coercive motions and cunning words if he wanted someone to feel bad for him. He’d seen it, and he hated it, the way Leo would take every verbal and behavioral cue as an excuse to turn it back on whoever seemingly opposed him or utilize it as a chance to attract attention to himself.

“Leo—” His voice was soft but stern as he tried to catch the other’s attention.

“Leo,” he spat back with blatant sarcasm, rolling his eyes while he mimicked the word with spite and mockery.

“Christ, now you sound like my mom, too. What, my name only worth saying when you want something? When I do something wrong?” That glare was all too familiar, dark, radiant brown eyes staring into Markus’ while he was reminded of interactions he’d long since wanted to forget. Markus acknowledged that despite his personal frustrations, if he didn’t stand up to Leo when he was in a mood like this, no one would, and he’d never learn that he couldn’t get away with acting this way.

“I don’t say your name as means to antagonize you.” For a moment, he’d forgotten that trying to explain himself was a bit too much with words too long, bounding to only frustrate Leo worse; closing his eyes, Markus lifted a hand in a ‘wait a minute’ gesture while he regathered his thoughts. Leo looked nonplussed, scowling while he glared him down through frustration as he was made to deal with this, but let Markus continue.

“I just wish you’d listen, for once. That I could trust you not to act like this as soon as I turn around.”

Was he feeling regret? Over an android’s words? Leo didn’t want to believe it, staring at the ground as he shifted his weight to the other leg again, rotating a foot and smudging the toe of his shoe into the ground, as if snubbing something out – though nothing was there, proving it to be an action carried out by the need of his internal bursting energy alone, always seeming to disrupt him in a way that made it so he couldn’t sit still or hold conversation for long. Markus couldn’t tell whether to blame it on the drugs anymore or not, or leave it to the fact Leo was simply like that as a person.

“Yeah, well, I wish all sorts of shit, but that’s just it – wishes don’t come true.” There was a cold callousness in Leo’s eyes that Markus hadn’t seen since he was on drugs, and that was when the realization clicked into place that it didn’t take an external substance for Leo to act up; it was simply something he did when he might see the response as beneficial, or simply carried it on as a habit, a weapon tucked away into its holster until he needed it.

“So I’m supposed to believe the past four months of our time together weren’t…” too many words, he knew already.

“Leo, I thought that you… I thought that we,” he restated, quick to realize his monologue would likely hit deaf ears and quickly shortening his sentence before continuing. To his surprise, Leo huffed, stopping in place while he considered the words; bringing his hands to the sides of his head, Leo clenched fingers into his hair as he began to pace, a blatant sign something was bothering him and thus hinting Markus to tread lightly.

“I thought we were doing well.” He wanted to finish his sentence with more dialogue, but it lacked malice, holding pure interest as to why Leo would turn on him this way and what he should do about it. He’d heard about it, he knew full and well how Leo changed his personality on a whim, fished for compliments and played the victim card when he needed to for whatever he wanted. Nonetheless, he’d never seen the actions in front of his own two eyes, and the striking disappointment that sunk deep into him made Markus realize so much more about Leo than he’d ever wanted to. It explained why Carl had such difficulty trying to keep in touch alone, why even after doing their best for Leo, everyone had to give up eventually and leave him to face his own battles; a bold contrast to how Leo seemed to either belittle himself or inflate his own ego depending on the moment, leaving Markus to pick apart an algorithm he’d never had to before.

“It’s not that easy,” Leo griped, an immediate excuse to avoid the conversation as he, again, tried to leave. Markus was quick to position himself in his way, tilting his head with a look on his face that made Leo feel cornered—not afraid, simply aware, leaning his head back with an upward tilt of his chin as he subconsciously tried to make himself appear bigger in favor of the interaction, even as the  shorter party.

“I never said it was.” The level of intelligence this computer held reminded Leo of his frustration in the first place, index fingers rubbing circles in the sides of his temples as he glared straight ahead and began pacing back and forth across the polished wood floor.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Markus let the name drop, lacking the need to further add a carved sharpness to the words he spoke, something else he and Leo would disagree on again and again. Every once in a while, Leo seemed to belittle his own name, reacting to it with sudden disgust as if it left a ringing in his ears or a bitter taste on his tongue. What it was like to hate one’s own moniker was entirely beyond Markus, as his was simple and held no particular emotional attachment, short and to the point. There was the generally added personal connection to surnames, and Markus had yet to brave bringing up the sound of Manfred between the two of them.

“I can do whatever I want,” Leo stated blatantly, even though both of them knew better and neither of them believed him for a second.

“Is it that easy for you to lie?” This caught Leo’s attention full-on as he froze in place, staring Markus down with an expression mixed between disbelief and the ‘duh’ he communicated with his eyes, barely short of escaping his lips.

“Is it that hard for you?” Leo parroted, glaring Markus in the eyes the same way he’d done the last time while his fingertips curled into the fabric of the android’s jacket.

“Is it that easy for you to be honest? Oh yeah, you never had to defend yourself, so of course it is! You had nothing to lie about,” he began, already feeling the aggravated heat on his face from his own frustration alone. He subconsciously stepped onto the seething hot trail of rage, knowing it would lead to somewhere ugly and regretful, but took it in stride for the moment as he felt like it was the right thing to do.

“You had nobody to lie to, so of course you wouldn’t get it. There was no need!” Despite having Leo yelling in his face another time over, Markus took a long, quiet moment to recollect, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out in one long, slow motion, before opening his eyes to catch Leo’s while he was granted the mercy of holding eye contact, no matter how short-lived the moment might have been.

“No, I didn’t lie,” he stated with clear modesty.

“There’s no reason for me to lie, withhold secrets or falsify the truth. That isn’t to say I haven’t done it before – I understand the need to when you’re in the position of danger. I will never understand doing so for the sake of self-gratitude, though.”

“You what now?” Right. Markus glanced over to one of the chairs in the main room, leading them both to sit down across one another in the seats on each side of the empty chess table, hoping that Leo would accept the invitation to settle and vent one way or another, whether the conversation was personally constructive for either of them or not. He knew when Leo acted like this it meant he had a lot of pent-up frustrations he needed to get out, and sometimes complaining alone did the trick; but this time, Markus felt like it might be a little bit different.

“Sorry,” Markus offered, thinking about how talking in shorter sentences was his own sort of habit he needed to change, but it was a simple rearrangement of thought compared to the daily major life aspects Leo had to work around and teach himself to adjust to. All he was trying to do was make communication easier between them, and if he still caught himself finding trouble with it, he couldn’t imagine how many times more difficult such a thing must be for someone trying to turn their entire life around. Leo only stared at him.

“Lying just to lie doesn’t make sense to me, neither does lying to get something I want. That’s why you do it, right?” Leo scoffed, glaring daggers in Markus’ direction.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that. Lying to win. It’s that easy.” Both of them paused with a heavy tension between them, aggravation building, doing no favors for the docile nature Markus intended to keep with this exchange.

“No. I never said you won, or that it was easy,” Markus corrected, and Leo bared his teeth with a snarl as he further disliked being corrected.

“I said I can’t do the same thing myself unless the situation called for it. I want to understand why you talk to your friends like I’m an object after I thought you were finally understanding how to respect me as a person.” Shifting in the seat, it took all the willpower Leo had not to get up and leave, arms straight at his sides while his hands clenched into the soft red fabric of stiff luxury cushions. Lowering his glower while he glared off to the side, he shook his head with an unsteady motion as everything in his body ushered him to keep moving.

“’Cause some people don’t get it, okay? They’re never going to. They’re not gonna wake up one day and think androids are people, no matter how hard you try,” he continued with spite, but his lowered vision and shrunken shoulders told Markus that there was sincerity in Leo’s word, an emotional defense mechanism slowly crumbling as honesty and realization swirled in Leo’s mind, constantly changing his view for the better even as he dug his hands into old mud.

“It’s just…easier to talk to ‘em the way they know, you know?” Markus glared at him, not feeling so bad when Leo adjusted uncomfortably in his seat again.

“You talked about how I could kill you. You don’t really think of me that way, do you?” Leo swallowed, making Markus grow uneasy. Was this a thought process Leo had stuck in his mind all along? An assumption he’d never heard, and thus didn’t bother trying to work around?

“No,” Leo said, but it was in a rush and he realized he should take it back immediately as it was a falsified truth.

“Maybe,” he snapped, closing his eyes while he leaned back and rubbed over the skin of his forehead, rolling it over his eyebrows and back up to his hairlinne again. Too honest. This was speaking more than he cared to, and every word dug the stress in deeper.

“I don’t know. You’ve seen what—what those things—what your friends do!” Aware there was no way to properly speak about it in a dignified matter, he’d changed his wording with a last-second moment of lament, shaking his head and combing his hands through his hair.

“I don’t know, dude, everyone’s out to get me all the time, why the hell should I think you’re any different?” Leo’s eyes stared at Markus’, but they jittered, dilated and unfocused in a way that would make Markus assume he was on drugs if he didn’t know any better. This was merely a typical stress response in Leo and would usually go as soon as it came as long as he let him ride it out the way he needed to; but that was the trickier part. Sometimes it was a good idea to let Leo get his frustrations out, and others it only made the situation and his own train of thought that much worse.

“Will you listen to me if I explain it to you?” There was a sharpness to Markus’ voice as he offered-yet-threatened to try and hold a conversation over the matter, and Leo stopping in place at least proved he was willing to consider the idea. Shrugging, Leo pulled his arms up from the seat and leaned into the back of the chair, folding his hands behind his head.

“Alright. Okay. Go for it.” Markus never liked Leo’s taunting nature, but he was willing to try and work with it if it might work out in their favor. Looking expectant, Leo raised his eyebrows with a twitch of his lip as he waited. Suddenly, Markus had a harder time finding the words he needed to say once he was put on the spot.

“First of all, I’m not them. I’m not your mother, or your father, or your old friends, or your ex-girlfriend.” Leo already looked bored and annoyed but remained quiet as he waited for Markus to continue.

“I don’t have some ultimate goal to ruin your life, and I’m not dealing with a fluctuation of instable emotions like most people around you had been. I’m not going to think differently of you from one day to the next, I just want to try to understand how you are as a whole. Killing you would sort of defeat the whole point of me trying to get to know you better, anyway,” he continued with a lighter tone to his voice, prompting Leo to face the realization of truth as he bit his lower lip and turned his head to the side, shifting uncomfortably.

“I know that truth is difficult for you, Leo. Sincerity, emotion, it’s all a foreign concept that you struggle to understand.” Cheeks darkening, Leo felt the need to get up and leave thricefold as soon as Markus pointed out the truth, leaving him to start scratching at the long sleeve of his upper arm in agitation while Markus pulled out another pin to add to the cushion of his own denial. Leading to self-discovery was another process in itself, Leo’s body shuffling so his shoulders slouched when he leaned forward, still casting his gaze off to one side in avoidance. Still, in Markus’ mind, it was another step forward.

“You don’t have to tell me. Your relationships with your friends and what they mean are your own business, and not mine. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to be treated like a person, better than how you’ve been talking, with how much I’ve done for you.” Usually, Leo would take that as an antagonization, hearing Markus’ words and reflecting them in his past memories of manipulation – but Markus was sincere, another fact that had him lost while he tried to register the words for what they meant, and the emotion they fully encompassed. Markus wasn’t passive-aggressive, he wasn’t bitter or spiteful; he occasionally sunk his teeth into a bittersweet fruit but overall, Leo knew what he was telling him was honest, and there was no way he could deny or run away from the matter.

“Okay,” he said swiftly, and the disbelief made Markus curl his lips with an expression of dismay and lower his eyebrows while Leo rubbed the palms of his hands together, antsy and avoidant.

“You know what, you’re right,” he admitted – as much as he hated stating such a thing.

“I just… I know so many people, and they all think different. I can’t fit in with anyone, so I sorta, I have to change my behavior because of it.” It sounded pathetic; he knew. It fell flat on Markus’ microphones; he was all too aware. But it was the best he could give at an explanation for his actions, in a way that would make sense to him.

Markus wanted to respond immediately, but he took a moment to redecide, trying to imagine himself in Leo’s shoes; to him, it would be easy to tell the truth and hold a modest persona, but for Leo it would be the opposite. The fact this person had to adjust and change his personality so much made Markus question who the true Leo was, or rather, who he might have been if given the freedom from such a cruel world caving in around him. The longer he’d spent with him, the more he learned that Leo’s exaggerations and lies weren’t merely self-defense; they were deeply ingrained beliefs that would be harder to shake than super glue.

“You don’t have to do that.” It was the first thing Markus thought to say, pausing afterwards so as to let the words sink in.

“I know,” Leo responded in a dark, quiet tone, the words surprising both of them.

“I don’t have to. But it’s easier if I do.”

Easy. A word Markus was aware of, but never became well-acquainted with. Why would there be any worth in doing something if it was easy?

Then he remembered Leo’s situation, where nothing was easy and he had to do his best just to survive, feeling the melancholy drift over him, shrouding him within a cloud of newfound heartache. He still hadn’t adjusted to his own emotions in regard to Leo, so it was always a bit surprising when he felt something in response to their exchange, new sensations he was still regulating to while Leo likely knew the full extent of the strings he was pulling. This time, he hoped to turn the tide, even just slightly.

“Why do you think it’s easier?” It was a difficult concept, but he wanted to know the truth, and understood the thought process Leo must go through every time it came to something like this; he imagined it may have been a practiced feat, but never assumed it could come easily.

“Okay, like, if I called up a thrift shop and started talking about an old microwave like a person, they’d look at me like I’m nuts, right?” The mania strung out through his veins made him continue to shake while he offered a half-smile, half-sneer, eyes wide with disjointed lips and crooked teeth showing an expression Markus never really understood.

“I mean, I get it. The revolution shit. I was there, I saw it, I kinda caused it,” he said with an airy tone holding more snide than he’d really meant. Again, he wasn’t good with confrontation.

“But that doesn’t mean everyone listens. Some people I know aren’t gonna change their minds, and that’s just how it is,” he said, not noticing the touch of gloom to his voice. Markus did, eyes darting over to him while he tried to absorb the full length of exactly what Leo was feeling – but it was impossible, considering just how in-depth his personality was, deeper than most of the humans he’d ever known.

“If you’re speaking and you think no one is listening, then there’s a flaw in your dialogue. I mean to say, they’ll hear you if you talk loud enough.” Leo scoffed.

“I don’t care about that, dude,” he chimed in a voice all too friendly for the discussion at hand.

“They don’t need to hear me. I don’t need to hear me.”

“Then why tell them the lies that you do?”

Leo’s gaze turned serious, the brown of his eyes seeming to dim as he leered at Markus, trying to decide how to respond to his question. The fact he had no words only continued to prove he was in the wrong, and this time he had to face the fact, rather than try to bury it down in his typical act of repression.

“Nobody trusts me. I want to keep what I can, when people think I’m worth it.” He wasn’t worth it, he knew; they were just using him for what he had to offer, whether it was drugs, money or sex, adjusting his weight in his seat again with a rapid scratch at the skin of his collarbone.

“Guess that means talking shit about you too,” he said with the realization that the Leo that spun webs of lies and the Leo here now, trying to overcome such an act in an effort of rehabilitation, were very different and ultimately difficult people to split.

“If I tell them the truth about you, then I lose them as friends, too.” Markus wasn’t sure whether to be hurt over the aspect of being replaceable, or remorseful with the idea that Leo’s friends were that shortly extendable, easy to drop like flies if he so much as told the honest reality of it all.

“Do you want to keep them as friends in the first place?” Markus knew the weight of his words and how they sunk Leo down by the shift of his expression, but in his mind, it was necessary. How else would he come to terms with such an idea?

“The last I knew, you were only talking to your ex-girlfriend. Who were you on the phone with?”

In response to being questioned, Leo was quick to stand from his seat, close to backhanding Markus all over again before he reconsidered the idea, stepping away to pace through the living room.

“Who were you on the phone with?” Markus repeated, his voice holding more depth as he noticed Leo’s typical behavior of avoidance, making him all the more uncertain, and therefor wary, hoping it wasn’t what he thought. Leo avoided the question, feeling the anger bubble up beneath his skin with a readiness to kick down the kitchen chair while his hands clenched fistfuls of his own hair.

“He was–he was—" Speaking was a new sort of communication that Leo could never entirely connect to, linking his ability to easily lie alongside the need to tell the truth in favor of Markus, what he wanted, and how badly he, himself needed the connection they had. Losing it now would only hurt him worse, as much as he hated to think such a thing.

“Was?” Markus’ voice was calm, reasonably quiet. Leo shook his head, scratching his hair while he took in Markus’ question. Feeling defeated, Leo sighed, snapping the fingers of his right hand a few times in lieu of knowing what else to do with himself.

“He was my dealer,” he said in one rushed, fast breath, hoping it would be lost in the wind if they could put aside the conversation. Of course, with Markus, they couldn’t.

“So your red ice dealer doesn’t like androids? Hard to see that connection,” Markus said in a flatly sarcastic voice, but Leo still appreciated the irony, flashing a one-sided smile in response and scoffing before he let out a low, dry laugh, but not one that indicated it was humorous to him.

“Funny. You got jokes,” Leo stated with a bored tone of voice that showed he didn’t actually find it amusing. Markus reflected his expression.

“You and I both know this isn’t funny.”

“Yeah, well, I gotta laugh. What do you call it? Irony?” He shrugged, gaze shifting to the ceiling as he let out a big sigh.

“There’s no reason to. If you stop finding humor in the morbid things, you’ll realize there’s nothing to laugh at.”

“That’s not funny.” The ironic paradox in the statement struck them both, but Markus was the only one to react, letting out a quiet sigh as he leaned forward to prop his weight on his arms with his elbows against his knees, sitting down.

“Would you find it easier if you could laugh at it?” Eyebrows immediately knitting together, Leo glared at him with offense riddling his face, leaving him to feel both frustrated and righted, as there was probably some truth to what Markus had asked. He wanted to bat away the subject and stand up to leave, but Markus’ gaze was enough to reel him back to his seat in the chair even when he tried. Markus felt satisfied that Leo had retreated of his own accord.

“Easy,” Leo said back, staring with cold eyes, glassy with their glare of spite.

“Yeah. Sure. If anything about my life was fucking easy,” he bit, ready to trail down another road of anger and nothing else, virtually feeling his shoes burn from the melting lava - even if it was entirely metaphorical.

“Can you listen to what I’m saying for a moment?” That was new, the frustration in Markus’ voice that Leo had never personally heard before, attention immediately on him as he turned his head, wary as to whether it was an act of truth or not. Another part of himself – and what the drugs made him out to be – he hated was the temptation to distrust, always wanting to second-guess what he’d been told, to challenge what had been done to him. This time, he just sighed, slumping into the chair as the urge to fight left him, and for the time being, he listened to the words Markus was going to say.

“You don’t have to lie to fit in with people. You don’t have to fit in at all.” Looking confused, Leo narrowed his eyes, tilting his head with a defiant shrug of his shoulders.

“If they really mean so little to you, then why give them so much credit?” Leo was struck silent for a moment, sinking into the seat of his chair. Taking that as a victory, Markus continued.

“Do you think more of me or of them? Who matters more to you?” Markus was well aware the ultimatum wasn’t fair, but that was exactly the reason why it would make Leo think over it.

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Leo looked offended, but Markus remained deadpan.

“What do you think I mean?” Leo hated when he asked questions like that. He hated what they meant, and the way it made him think.

“I dunno. It’s not like that. I can’t just, pick and choose my friends, you know?” Markus looked confused.

“Sure you can.” The aspect made Leo feel like he’d fall from his chair, scrambling to catch his balance again with a mocking noise. Markus wanted to comment about it but said nothing.

“You know what’s better or worse for you. Good influences, and bad, whether you want to admit it or not.” His voice became lighter as he was hoping Leo absorbed his words, examining his shifting expressions while Leo did all he could not to get up and leave. Markus continued to be thankful he’d tried so hard not to, another piece of proof that he was still trying, even in moments like this.

“You know what it takes to sober up and talking lowly of me isn’t part of it.”

He was right, of course, the denial leaving Leo to do little but glower in his direction. Markus knew it was a signal of progress, opting to let him for the sake of how it would help, even if Leo didn’t acknowledge it – now or ever.

“Dude, if I leave him too, I won’t have any friends left,” he said with contempt, aware that he would be better off if he’d dropped the ‘connection,’ yet fearful of the future of another person leaving his side—even if it was for the best.

“Do you need them?” Leo stared blankly, lacking any physical or mental response this time.

“I need something,” he stated clearly, even though the words left his lips in crumbling uncertainty.

 “Company, I guess,” Leo continued with a sneer.

“Good company,” Markus corrected. Leo glanced away.

“Maybe that’s part of your problem, or why you keep going back,” Markus offered.

“Do you actually feel a connection to that person?” Leo glowered, teeth bared but lips limp in a lack of proper expression, lacking words certain enough to escape his mouth.

“No,” Leo murmured with the voice of epiphany, a tone of realization that left him in a whisper while he glanced down at his hands now trembling in front of him.

“He’s just there for the drugs. Right?” Leo closed his eyes, hating this particular aspect of discussion, as he’d had many similar interactions with therapists before. They never ended well.

“Right,” he said in a voice that wavered, a hint of dismay proving he didn’t want to believe it.

“Why did you talk to him about me killing you?” That struck him speechless, leaving Leo to roll onto his side and curl up against the seat between an instinctual nature to hide and the desire to flee. For now, while he didn’t want to be there, he laid still, waiting for more of Markus’ words while he curled himself into a corner.

Did he really have to tell the truth?

“Uhm, that’s what he thinks is gonna happen,” he muttered simply. Markus didn’t take it in so few words, swallowing down the awareness of there being so many people out there, always ready to kill himself or others like him.

“And you fed into that?” Leo’s eyes looked tired as he glanced up at him, but they were understanding enough to continue the conversation. Leo glared at him with the obvious undertone that Markus didn’t understand to the extent he needed, but the thought was quickly discarded.

“What else was I supposed to do?”

Markus paused as he acknowledged it was a good question, considering the circumstances. Say no was too simple, with expectations much too intense for someone like Leo, and he couldn’t hold such high hopes against a man like him.

“You weren’t ‘supposed’ to do anything. Just consider what it might mean for yourself, to keep in touch with people like that.” Leo’s own mind reminded him those were his only friends, but realizing Markus wouldn’t understand such a concept, he didn’t dare speak such words out loud.

“It’s bad,” Leo said with an air of realization, as if he just then understood the way it could lash back on him. Markus stared, but didn’t offer any verbal response. Before long, Leo’s hands were scraping through his hair; meanwhile Markus gave him a pointed gaze, distracting him for long enough to keep his attention where he needed it to be, yet didn’t pursue Leo despite part of his initial programming telling him to do so. For the most part, he’d learned to ignore those instructions, neglecting them in favor for what he- as well as androids around him- needed as a whole. Leo had never saved an entire species of his own, he’d mused, but never did he feel so trapped that he felt the need to otherwise. A new chance rose with a bright and vibrant opportunity, an aspect that scared Leo to the core.

“Then why do you keep doing it?” Markus’ words shook him, yet made him think long enough it left him quiet while he debated the exchange. That was the hard part; trying to explain what made it that effortless, that quick to slide off his tongue in a slip of a few seconds of coherent questions and responses, even to the police and authorities.

“Why do you keep asking me about this bullshit?” Leo was pleased to find his external reflection skills were still needle sharp, tilting his head with a twitch in his eyebrows and an accusatory stare at Markus as soon as he’d been given the chance.

“Stop telling me about shit I already know, okay? And the whole listening to me while I talk to my friends, thing – way creepy, dude.”

The weight of the ground seemed to shift beneath them as Markus didn’t exactly expect to be so blatantly dismissed. Nodding, his eyebrows furrowed in a moment of confusion as he scratched the back of his neck—an action he hadn’t generally acknowledged, picked up by someone aside from himself who he didn’t immediately remember while his mind scrambled to find an answer. Leo didn’t notice, and he was grateful.

“What? Now you’re quiet?” The way Leo’s voice cut into him was quick to force him to settle in place, staring into dark brown eyes with his own, digging his metaphorical heels into the ground while he wondered exactly how long he could stand staring into Leo’s eyes.

Looking amused, then offended with an accusatory glare in Markus’ direction, Leo laughed in his face.

“I should have known better, anyway.” Leo rambled on in a tone meant to attract attention and all the while speaking in pointed, short bursts with the anticipation to keep a sharp mindset, a way of speaking that kept Markus on his toes as he’d learned to become more in tune to Leo’s awareness than he’d originally anticipated. Leo sucked in a deep breath while he made his best attempt to hold a civil conversation, but couldn’t help the way his voice held nothing but spite.

It was all too easy for Leo to dig from an old list of egotistical remarks and demanding tones that made Markus equally more curious and yet all the more willing to leave the entire thing behind as soon as Leo opened his mouth.

“All you motherfuckers do—”

Markus turned to stare at him without so much as a three-second movement, barely casting a glance while he did a quick analysis of the human. He was a bit too quick to strike, lost in a moment of what might have been emotionally-driven thought as he shoved Leo to the ground, but even in millisecond motions he wasn’t sure there was anything backing up exactly what he’d done.

“You think that everything is entitled to you, but you don’t deserve half of what the world has offered you,” he hissed through his teeth, a particular accusatory gaze pointing at Leo with his hands already wrapped into the front of an unzipped jacket.

“Haha! Look at you!” Leo’s congratulation was thick with sarcasm, followed by one of his infamous chuckles—the ones that sounded so unrealistic, it was strange to hear from a living, breathing being. That laugh was a signal that the cognitive portion of Leo was lost in the confines of whatever delusions had their grasp on his prefrontal cortex for the time being. There was no negotiating with someone who wasn’t coherently there in the first place.

“Not so perfect now, are you?”

“Leo,” Markus stated sternly with just enough gumption to keep his attention,

“Stop this.”

“Don’t call me by my name,” he demanded, the sour scour never leaving his face. Markus considered it an odd request, but stored away the ‘command’ for later.

“You’re not my fucking parents. I get it, the way you really tried to fit in and become a big part of everything, but don’t you realize how stupid it is? I mean, that’s the joke, you know—the first android Kamski made was a blue-eyed, blond-haired babe!” There was an unusual amount of enthusiasm to his voice as he pointed out the fact, laughing to himself at the idea of Markus being comparable to nothing short of a bikini model.

Markus saw black, and in a moment, there was nothing. The last time they fought, Leo was unconscious on the ground and Markus wondered if he was dead – and hearing otherwise almost made him wish he’d finished the job.

The next thing they knew, Leo was beneath him, turned onto his stomach with his arms behind him while he shouted in discomfort, struggling for a few minutes before he turned his head to glare up at Markus the best he could from his position.

“Alright, if you’re into this, you need to tell me now, because it’s really kinda weirding me out—” Markus’ eyes narrowed as he graced Leo a gaze of distrust, but remained silent, lifting himself up and letting him go in one quick motion. Blinking, Leo brought his arms forward to push his body off the ground so he could stand, then brushed the dirt off his hands and clothes, but wasted no time scowling directly at Markus.

In a moment of silence, it seemed like neither of them had anything to say. Markus had plenty of words to use in favor of convincing Leo he was in the right, but even if Leo was willing to pay attention, he didn’t currently have the desire to teach. Not to someone that refused to listen. Not him.

Markus knew his words were meant to try and pull a response from him, so he was silent in his refusal. In a swift line straight towards him, Leo was quick to close in, never looking away with his eyes glaring into the android’s as soon as he’d set foot in his direction—a behavior that only seemed to happen when he thought he was the one in power, another expression showing an emotion he would never understand.

“Why do you want to hurt me?” It was an honest question, even if Markus didn’t expect an honest response.

“I don’t. I wanna see that you won’t hurt me.” There was a twist of uncertainty that welled inside him as he prepared a few backup commands for the worst of situations—just in case.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Markus said softly with a lift of his eyebrows, and in that moment, something occurred to him; in a haze of his own distracted thoughts, he hadn’t checked to ensure Leo took his medication earlier in the day. Could a few hours make this much of a difference?

“You say I don’t think a lot. I thought that was your whole thing, raising hell about thinking and feeling? Tell me about how you feel, Markus.” Leo spat each word with such vigor Markus felt the flecks of saliva speckle his face. As much as he wanted to resist, he knew if he fought back, the only way this could go was downhill, letting his body grow limp in surrender. Besides – he’d made the first move, after all.

“Tell me if you feel this,” Leo threatened in a tone that gradually lowered before slamming a fist across Markus’ face. Once, twice, then again. Pausing for a moment to recalibrate, Markus felt his weight shift as he found himself weakened a fair amount from the blows. Momentarily silent, he told himself how history had a tendency to repeat, wondering for a moment just what was going through Leo’s mind in the time they’d shared face-to-face, now close enough he could feel the erratic breaths cast down his neck. A swift scan notified him Leo’s conditions being none too healthy, moving his head out of the way as Leo swung another punch and rolling away to sit up beside him. Confused, Leo glared him down with suspicion; Markus shrugged in response.

“Come here,” he beckoned with a voice of concern. Baffled, Leo took the opportunity to stand upright again, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows in a gesture that asked the question so obviously blaring in his mind. Markus was grateful he didn’t feel the need to use his nasty vocabulary to speak, for once. In a few moments, Markus gathered the words to say, reassuring himself they were in a fashion Leo would listen to and understand, even if it sounded unlikely.

“You—you think I’m just gonna, walk over there, right up to you? Is that what you want?” While he paused to catch his breath, Markus took a moment to feel nigh on impressed by how well Leo could taunt while in the face of direct danger. A surprise he’s not dead yet, he thought to himself, before discarding the notion in abrupt discomfort.

“Listen to yourself. You’re not making any sense.” Surprisingly enough, the words seemed to get through to him, leaving Leo to take a moment to kneel on the ground, holding himself up on his uninjured knee and both of his arms. For a moment, he thought back to the days when he’d been more fit, running track with visits to the gym at least twice a week. In that moment of feeling useless all over again, he took a few deep, heavy breaths before heaving himself back to his feet – and turning around, leaving the room before Markus could get another word in.

[techieninja18]

So I’ve had a rough past couple of days and l’m trying to deal with some things that make me really uncomfortable. I don’t really know what made me decide to talk about it here, but I guess I felt like venting to someone other than my parents right now, even if it just ends up in the void. This involves some very personal stuff, including things of a feminine nature (like physically), so don’t read if you don’t want to hear anything of that sort.

It’s no secret that I have depression and anxiety issues. Earlier this spring I had to do a routine med check and, since I was having trouble with some previously prescribed meds, I ended up switching. This summer was tough, though I noted some improvement. Unlike my final spring semester of college, I didn’t have as many of the worst physical symptoms of anxiety such as pounding heart, chest pains, and difficulty breathing, so while there was improvement with my anxiety the symptoms of my depression became more prevalent and remain so now. I have no desire or will to do anything, I’ve lost interest in the things I’m supposed to enjoy, and I just feel wiped out all the time. I knew these symptoms would get worse starting in August when I moved back in with my parents after my summer job/internship ended. I have yet to find a new job and my poor mental health is definitely not helping.

Part of it has to do with living back at home. All of the independence I’ve gained the past few years while living out of town for school is pretty much gone. My parents treat me as if I were still in high school: not letting me do things my own way, telling me what I’m going to do with my time without even asking me if I had other plans, giving me my old list of chores (which I can understand while I’m still unemployed, though I know it won’t change once I do get another job) while my teenage brother doesn’t have to do any most of the time and he’ll just sit on his X-box (seriously, they are so lax with him; they give him so much more freedom and let him get away with so much more with fewer restrictions than I ever had, and he’s less responsible than I was as a teenager, but I digress...), just not taking me seriously or treating me like an adult the majority of the time. My dad even got pissed off last week because I wasn’t up at his shop working by 10:30 on Sunday like he’d mentioned he wanted me to do two days prior, yet he wasn’t even up there (I can’t get in without him because I don’t have a key), and I was supposed to take my brother up there with me, but he wasn’t ready by 10:30 either. My dad came into my room and chewed my ass for not doing what he said (he wanted me to mow the lawn, and with no one else up there there was no point in me going, plus there was literally no reason it had to be done so early since there was still plenty of dew on the grass anyway). He said it was stuff like that that was the reason he still “treated me like shit sometimes.” Yes, those were his exact words. It hurt me for the rest of the day and off and on for the next few days (I even had to hide tears from my mom two days later, though she did end up prying it out of me later anyway). Dad seemed to by in a better mood by lunch that day and was trying to joke around at lunch, but it made no difference to me.

He doesn’t always realize how his words affect me. Like, shortly after moving home, he would always say “you know, for being smart, sometimes you make stupid look easy” after I said something kinda dumb or I accidentally messed something up. I know it’s a quote from a movie and that it’s supposed to be a joke, but he said it a lot. It make me think of a particularly bad incident that happened in the last week of my summer job. It was never officially my fault, but I still feel responsible, and I still feel incredibly stupid for it. There was an incident a couple summers ago at a different summer job that was pretty bad (not that I ever got in any sort of trouble for it, it wasn’t good but it was fine, and it was labelled as an accident though I know it was entirely my fault). I had flashbacks to every stupid thing I’ve ever done or said, especially those two incidences, and I really started to feel stupid, like I can’t do anything without fucking it up. I’ve felt so worthless, pathetic, and stupid. After my mom saw how much those words hurt me she called my dad out on it and he ended up poking and prodding at my mind trying to piss me off after that just to get me to confront and stand up to him. He said he realized how much that saying could hurt, and he did apologize, but then continued to push to get an emotional response out off me, which he has a tendency to do when I’m under pressure or stressed or in an apparent mood. The problem is that he purposely takes control away from me as much as possible in these situations (like seriously, he’s admitted that he does it intentionally because it does piss me off). He’ll interrupt me constantly but won’t let me interrupt him, he’ll tell me how he’s right and I’m wrong, won’t always let me talk or defend myself, and often finds ways to belittle and/or underestimate me, not giving me enough credit for what I do know or why I do certain things certain ways. It’s incredibly infuriating and frustrating. Sometimes I feel like he doesn’t really listen to me or make an effort to truly understand/accept parts of me.

Mom doesn’t always either, though it’s different with her. I think she tries to understand, but isn’t always capable of doing so. That’s seemed more prevalent lately. For example, when I came out as ace to her I could tell she didn’t understand. She tries to, or appears to try sometimes, though she clearly can’t understand that I don’t feel any sort of sexual attraction to anyone since she “never had that problem.” She keeps telling me to “just try it! You may like it. How can you know if you’ve never tried! Never say never. You just haven’t found the right person yet. You’re going to have to eventually, how do you expect to have kids? It’s just a part of life.” I don’t currently have any desire to have kids or in a relationship of any sort, which sucks right now because both my mom and dad are pressuring me to “get some” with a guy friend who I’ve been friends on and off with, and they’ve really wanted me to get into a relationship with him because they “don’t think I can do any better than him.” Ouch. Like, I know they really want grandkids (sooner rather than later), but no. They always say “no pressure,” but that never does anything to alleviate any pressure, especially since this guy has wanted to be in a relationship with me and I’ve realized I’m on the aro spectrum as well as the ace spectrum, so I really don’t see that happening. Neither of my parents want to accept me as aro/ace, and it can be really hard sometimes.

There are other things my parents haven’t been accepting of, at least not at first, but I hope that can change. Back in high school when I took my first psych class and started learning about depression and anxiety, I tried telling my mom I thought I had depression/anxiety. She told my dad and the first thing he said to me after that was, “No. If we thought you were depressed we’d be the first ones dragging your butt to a doctor.” That was the end of that conversation. Fast forward 4 years, I found myself sitting in the doctor’s office for my annual physical, and when I was asked about concerns it was like a switch had been flipped and I started sobbing in front of the doctor. I’d had a really stressful semester prior to that and I was in bad shape. She determined that yes, I did have clinical depression and anxiety, and that the anxiety had probably gone undiagnosed for years (I’m betting since childhood). She also mentioned that it could be partially genetic, and that’s how I learned that my mom also has depression/anxiety but had neglected to say anything to me prior to that and even helped my dad deny that anything was wrong with me because I was apparently high-functioning. Imagine how hurt that made me feel, like I’d been ignored when clearly a problem did exist. That same feeling of hurt has been plaguing me this week.

I’ve known since my med check in the spring that I was overdue for a physical because I hadn’t had one since I was 20 (I’m now 23), and that they had to do a pap smear/pelvic exam at this physical. I’ve been absolutely dreading that since the moment I heard about it. For a little background, I’ve always had issues “down there.” I’ve never been able to use tampons or anything because of discomfort and pain. I’d fight for at least a half hour with multiple tampons of the smallest size during my heavy flow and still not be able to get one in. I couldn’t find my way inside, and no matter which direction I angled the thing it either felt like I was hitting a wall and creating pressure or it would be uncomfortable and start to hurt. I only ever managed to get one in once, and it was uncomfortable the whole time, even when I took it out (after it was fully saturated). I told my mom about this at the time and she brushed it off, told me discomfort was normal at first and that I would get used to it, I just had to keep trying. She picked on me sometimes for being a wuss for not trying tampons again, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, especially since I was fine with pads. So yeah, I’ve had increasing anxiety about this exam as it approached. A couple days ago I decided not to try a tampon (because I’m not on my period yet so there’s no point) but my finger just to see if I could do it this time, figuring several years might have made a difference (because hey, it happened with contacts, where I couldn’t get them in the first time but when I tried a couple years later they went in just fine, so I thought maybe this would be like that). It didn’t. I couldn’t even find my way in, and touching that area just felt so uncomfortable like my body was telling me not to touch (not painful exactly, but bordering on it), up until I touched a spot trying to push in that immediately caused a sharper pain like what I remember feeling before. Instead of helping my anxiety, that little experiment only made it worse. For the next few days, the mere thought of this exam made me cry. I told my mom that I still couldn’t do it and that I was terrified, and she tried to make me feel better, but it was clear she was getting frustrated with me. She told me I had to get this exam done, it was just part of life, that I’d have to suck it up and “put my big girl panties on and just do it.” I felt like I had no support, she still didn’t understand.

I had to drag myself to this doctor’s appointment yesterday because I really really didn’t want to go. I was extremely tight-wound and nervous as hell, and I told the nurse why. She tried to make me feel better but it didn’t really work. She changed the speculum the doctor was going to use to the smallest they had (the “child-sized” one), but when she showed me the small one I just felt so nauseated; the smallest they had was still bigger than the smallest tampons I couldn’t insert, and I started hyperventilating after the nurse left the room. I fought tears while waiting for the doctor to come in, but once she did I just started sobbing. I already felt I wasn’t being taken seriously, and I was worried it would just get worse. The doctor said she’d have to at least take a look in there to see if anything was going on, and she said she didn’t see any problems, though I don’t know how much she could see because she couldn’t get the lamp over there to see the way she wanted. She told me she was going to put a couple fingers in to check, and immediately I felt that uncomfortable, almost painful sensation, which I told her about. She went deeper and suddenly there was the sharper pain. She stopped then because I was so uncomfortable, saying that “at least I made it that far... might’ve even made it all the way.” That didn’t make me feel better. She still didn’t find anything wrong and chalked the discomfort and pain up to anxiety (I mean, I wasn’t exactly relaxed, but that was as relaxed as I was going to get without being sedated or something). That didn’t make me feel any better either, in fact, it kinda made me feel worse, and I kept fighting tears because I was already embarrassed and freaked out. Then she asked me if I’d ever been abused, which I haven’t to my knowledge (I would’ve had to have been too young to remember if I was because I have a pretty good memory and can remember a lot from when I was little). It kind of bothered me that she asked that question, especially after I told her about me being on the aro/ace spectrum. She believes I really need a counselor for my general anxiety/depression, but she also thinks I may have some unresolved issues that may be causing the problems with my lack of comfort with various types of intimacy, so to speak. I know she means well, but it still felt really invalidating.

She did refer me to a women’s health specialist, so I have an appointment with them in a couple weeks. I told my mom about how things went after the appointment and that I was pretty much an emotional wreck and would probably be a vegetable for the rest of the day after getting home and taking my meds (they can apparently sedate me somewhat, though the crash that comes after an attack that strong also does that, and that is pretty much how I spent the rest of the day). She didn’t say much about me not being able to go through the exam. but she took the day off on the day I have my next appointment so I don’t have to go alone. She can access my medical stuff because I gave her legal permission deal with it too, so she checked my appointment info and apparently I have not one, but two appointments that morning. The first one is apparently to get an ultrasound, and the other is to actually have the gynecologist check me out. The addition of an appointment for an ultrasound makes me even more nervous, though I suppose it might be standard for something like this, I don’t really know. But yeah, I’m still incredibly nervous about this whole thing and really really really don’t want to do it. I’m sure I’m only going to get more nervous as those appointments get closer, and I expect I’ll probably be a teary-eyed mess then too. I hope they won’t have to actually sedate me to get in there, but I’m worried that’s what it’ll take, and if they find something it could mean surgery to fix. It’s just terrifying for someone like me who doesn’t want anyone or anything doing anything down there (myself included).

My mom now thinks that my being ace is just because I’m afraid of pain down there, so I still feel invalidated. I’ll admit that is one reason I have no interest in sex, but that is not why I’ve never felt sexual attraction nor why I consider myself ace. She’s trying to make me feel more normal about things, but tonight I finally called her out on not taking me seriously. I reminded her that I told her about these problems years ago, like how I told her about the depression/anxiety thing back in high school too (and ended up being right), and that she just brushed these things off. I could tell she felt kind of bad after that, and she did say “well, hindsight is 20/20,” which is true, but I don’t think that makes up for her (and dad) not listening/taking me seriously on these things, I wish they could just do that from the start. But then, I’m just the kid, what do I know, right? It’s not like I could really know myself or my own body...

So yeah, I don’t know if anybody’s even going to read this, but this is just some of what’s been going on with me, and I just felt like I had to get some of it out of my system. Sorry for the super-long whine/rant.