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deepseavibez · 3 years ago

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Blindspot || KTH

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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Blindspot [Taehyung x Reader]

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Genre - Best Friend; Fear of the Future; Nighttime Memories; Mixed Feelings;

Summary - She believed in more. In better. In bigger. That life was out there waiting to be grabbed with both hands. He's made it his sole purpose to remind her that simple moments were beautiful and meant to be enjoyed... and maybe, she would realize he was one of them.

Warning - (Slight) Angst; Anxiety; Unsure feelings; Fear of the Future; Fluff; Comfort;

Word Count - 4.7k

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🎶 - I'm Fine - BTS

TAE

‘Tae.’

‘Y/n?’ He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the time, ‘it’s 3am babe.’

‘... I'm sorry for waking you. Sorry. Go back to sleep, it's okay.’

‘Hey, no, no, I'm awake.’ Sitting up, he switched the phone to his other hand and rubbed at his eyes, ‘What's going on.’

‘It’s not important, I swear,’ he could hear her trying to mask her shakiness over the phone. ‘You can go back to sleep.’

He wouldn’t call her out on lying. He knew better than anyone when y/n was in a bad way. Once he asked her, specifically him, what was wrong, she would crumble and he wasn’t there to catch her right now. ‘Y/n. Come on, talk to me.’

‘I can't sleep.’

‘Yeah, no shit,’ he yawned back.

‘I'm so sorry for waking you.’ He could hear the trepidation in her voice.

‘You know better than to apologize for something like that, ‘ he chastised. ‘Babe, tell me about it. Was it a bad dream? Something keeping you up?’

----------

Y/N

You could hear shuffling over the phone as you searched for an answer. It was hard to put certain emotions into words. You only knew you needed to phone Tae, regretting it too late, when he actually answered. ‘I'm not sure,’ you started awkwardly, ‘I guess. I just don't know where I'm going.’

‘Do you plan on leaving me anytime soon?’ Already pulling your leg, he got you to roll your eyes.

‘No, of course not. I just mean, like, metaphorically.’

Things were a bit...confusing right now.

It had been a long time since you last had to deal with emotions this strong. The voices, getting harder to ignore. You had enough outside negativity to deal with, like family and some friends, all having this certain expectation from you.

It was new for you to rebel, to be who you wanted to be and feel how you wanted to feel without consequences. Choosing a life you solely strived toward, negating the tiny voice in your head saying you were wasting time and you were running out of time and you were not enough.

‘I don't know what I want to do, Tae!’ You burst out, the build up too long, the burden too heavy. ‘I don't have plans. I have a great job, I do. But I don't want to be a PA for the rest of my life and I don't know where to start, where to look, how to choose what I want to do.

I don’t have it figured out, it hasn’t fallen onto my lap, and when I look, I feel like I’m going to waste even more time looking.’

‘Y/n, you know you have a lot more figured out than you give yourself credit for.’ The huskiness of his sleep-leaden voice, comforted you. ‘You have money, a routine stable job, you've worked you way through university and graduated with honors.’ Taehyung did it without effort and he knew you would hear his gruff tone above all others, in a crowd, in a panic, as a voice of reason.

‘I know, and I keep trying to remind myself of that, but it’s just become unbearable. I am running out of time.’ Struggling to remain composed you spoke into the phone as if he was right here, ‘What if I'm still here in ten years, Tae? What if I don't ever figure out my purpose? What if I'm meant to just work and then die? I haven't lived! I haven’t seen the world. I’ve made everyone proud and now I’m the black sheep. I prefer it, It's just-,’

The sound of keys jangling cut you off.

‘Tae,’ you asked tentatively, confusion evident.

‘Hmm.’

‘What are you doing?’ You asked when he provided no further explanation.

‘Are you in pj's right now?’

‘Uh,’ you looked down at your white vest and underwear, just to make sure, ‘yeah, why?’

‘Miss y/n, I didn't know you slept in the nude.’

The protests left you immediately at his teasing, slithering heat under your skin at the very notion. ‘Tae! I am not sleeping in the nude, I have underwear on.’

‘Uh huh, what color are they?’ Your cheeks flamed in embarrassment. You could imagine his smirk, that dumb cocky, arrogant smirk.

He laughed, the sound gruff, infuriating you more, and causing you to giggle back. Because you were the butt of the joke, and you liked his laugh too much. Trying to be mad at him, even when play-fighting or harmless bantering, Taehyung, not a chance.

‘Listen,’ a seriousness settling between you, ‘get dressed, just sweatpants, and a shirt.’

‘Wait, what, why,’

‘Baby, listen for once. Just get dressed and give me five minutes.’

You looked at the blank screen, stunned. Your brain stuck at the word baby, and the effect it had. Your insides were mush, anxiety mollified, despite not knowing what he was about to do next.

‘Babe’, you knew, ‘babe’, you understood, that was normal, routine, best friend. But Baby?

You mulled over it as you discarded your vest, and threw on a loose Celine shirt. Pulling on your black sweats, a pair of socks and air force ones because who knows what this boy was up to, you stopped. You sniffed, once, twice, yep, that was Taehyung’s body wash, but what - oh, you tugged the loose collar toward your nose, yep, this was Tae’s shirt.

You composed yourself, almost deadpan at the small realization. When had he even stripped in your room and why weren’t you there.

Wrapping your messy hair into a bun, you restrained your mind from wandering further.

Your phone beeped from the bed and the screen lit up, a message popping up. ‘Look out your window.’

Peeping out you saw his black Jeep in your driveway. He popped his head out of the driver’s side window and did a two finger salute.

Shaking your head with a smile, you grabbed your phone and made your way downstairs through the house and out the front door.

‘What are you doing here,’ you asked as soon as he came into view. He looked good, white tee, black sweatpants, you matched, except for his leather jacket and red bandana.

He opened the passenger door on your side and leaned back, giving you a once over. His lips twitched as he rested his eyes on the shirt you wore. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he wanted you in his shirt. You raised your eyebrow playfully, refusing to give life to something like butterflies and heart-eyes when your best friend stood in front of you. Life was complicated enough.

‘You needed me to show up.’ He said it a matter-of-factly, but you knew he wanted to be there for you and you couldn’t, not feel grateful, and a little warm, that he would get into his car drive to you, all because you needed him to.

Not waiting for you to reply, he threw a jersey at you. ‘Its cold,’ his tone left no room for protest and he cocked his head toward the jeep, a sign to get in.

You wrapped it around you silently, not moving, not yet.

‘Well,’ his thumb curled around the top of the steering wheel as the rest of his fingers straightened out, his freehand rising to follow his question, ’Come on, get in.’

‘Where are we going?’ You would have gotten in, you would probably end up wherever he was going to take you anyway, but where was the fun in doing everything obediently. Even puppies had wild streaks.

He raised his eyebrow this time, a smirk teasing his cheek, 'You're brave every night, y/n. But not tonight, not while you're with me, come, trust me, wherever we go I'll keep you safe.'

You turned to close and lock the front door, breathing out slowly, as slow and low as you could, doing your best to work on the constriction around your heart; his words too wiry, too strong, too genuine to forget, too deep to ignore. It made you so... agreeable.

Getting into the Jeep, you felt different as you sat here now, in a seat you had been in too many times to count. It was probably the time and the circumstances. Yeah, some shifts were just because of the time, and the air and because it was silent and the dead of night.

You said nothing more, even though a few minutes earlier you spoke into the phone like you would explode if you couldn’t get the words out fast enough, you would be alone in your head, if you weren’t able to make him understand.

You jumped slightly, as you felt his hand close over yours, and pull it toward him to brush his lips along your knuckles. It was an absent action, maybe, because he stared straight ahead, didn’t spare a glance at you as you stared at the side of his head, making it look like he wasn’t even aware he was doing what he was doing.

Swallowing against the pounding of your heart, you chalked this up too. Night time was vulnerable, everyone was just a little more sensitive, you didn’t have to make it more than it needed to be.

Looking out the window you noted the lights and dark windows, empty parks and streets, doing your best to ignore the heat against your hand, the breath against your knuckles, lips not very far away, that were capable of a lot more.

With some effort, you faded out the intensity of his actions, and as your eyes adjusted you saw familiar figures, and buildings you had driven past numerous times. You knew where you were going.

He pulled up in the parking lot of his safe haven. In retrospect, your safe place should be entirely different, but you were safe with Tae, that said, his peace was where you found yours.

Jumping out of the Jeep, you noted how dark and looming the two story building looked. A huge sign reading 'Blindspot' the only posh part about this place, black metal roller doors, spray painted names across the walls, some of the neon colors standing luminescent against the moonless night.

One would think it was graffiti, but the community knew better, the ones that came and went, some that stopped and never left, knew having your name on the wall was a privilege.

He jumped out too, after grabbing something from the back. Carrying it toward you, you noted his knapsack, and a box of some sort.

Handing it over to you to hold, you took hold of them silently, as he pulled out the keys to open the locks and deadbolt.

You watched him, his actions purposeful but he was at home, knowing which way the locks turned, the catch on the bolt needing to be kicked out a certain way before opening fully; he'd done this a thousand times before.

Lifting up the shutters, the noise too loud for the silent night, he opened the door and guided you in, making you all too aware of his palm in the small of your back. Taking the stuff from your hand and throwing it onto the edge of the ring and he lifted up to close the shutters behind you.

You took notice of the extra shirt that falls out of the pile on the ring, one of your favorites of his actually, grey with black spots, sort of like a giant cookies and cream oreo mix.

The empty gym in front of you was a contrast to the busy days it had. There was a weight section, the bags lined up against the far wall hanging still, having no impact thrown at it to sway the dead weight, and the machines had their own floor upstairs, treadmills overlooking the balustrades to the floor below, by the ring where you stood.

The pool area, directly below you, in the basements where the changing rooms and showers could be found.

It looked small on the outside, but inside there were stories to be told, motivation, encouragement, brotherhood, friendships solidified in stone and a fair share of violent memories with broken bones, broken bonds and broken hearts.

Walls were packed with quotes, anatomy teachings and pictures, schedules, a dedicated to growing trophy case with medals and newspaper clippings, and pictures of staff, members, and the boss, with his best friend.

What Tae didn't continue, was the stereotype of the grunge masculine look that came with gyms. Outside may be black as night, but inside there was color everywhere - a world within.

The punching bags were each a different shade, green, red, yellow and blue. The ring bottom was black, neon orange ropes running along the sides in three consecutive lines, and your personal favorite, a giant pride flag hung on a hook outside his office door.

Toxic masculinity wasn't allowed in Taehyung's gym. You could be yourself, make your own lifestyle choices and still be a good fighter or just work-out. He took it upon himself to punch the teeth out of anyone that thought otherwise. This was what he'd always wanted to do and he made it more than just a place to get healthy.

There were four hours, two for the morning, two for the afternoon, catered only to women. Tae understood that men will be men, no matter how much you tried to change it. And comfort mattered.

Working out and exercising, as much as it seemed, like a chore, it could be enjoyable. It could be a social setting, helping people to open up, and cope, providing the best way for them to be themselves.

You helped him find a premises, helped him choose color schemes, and sat in on interviews. For legal purposes you were an advisor and owned a small share percentage. You didn't want it, but Tae insisted, you were especially grateful when the gym grew into more than you both had expected it to become.

'Y/n,' he waved his hand in front of your face, the action snapping you out of your thoughts.

'Huh, sorry, did you say something?'

He smiled comfortingly, 'Take the jacket off and your shoes.'

Scrunching your eyebrows, you finally asked, 'Tae, what are we doing here?'

'We are,' he started explaining as he ripped open a box in his hand, 'doing something I feel you need.'

Looking at you pointedly, he motioned his eyes to the jacket.

Shucking it off, you took off your shoes and redid your bun for good measure.

'It's strange isn't it,' you voiced out loud. He perked up at your food for thought, fingers fiddling with white tape. 'It's strange, that I know every corner of this place, but I haven't ever put a pair of gloves on.'

He raised his hand absently, a student raising his hand to give an answer, his gaze focused on yours as he did. 'That's because you've never had the need to, I'm here to protect you.'

Turning away, you caught yourself, before you let your heart show in your eyes. You've known Tae for so long, been his best friend for years, why now, why this feeling, this tightness in your chest.

You played it off, and walked over to him, socked feet padding against the wooden floor boards.

Taehyung clicking his tongue startled you out of your effort to feel normal; you found him staring at your socks.

'Y/n, I've told the guys this numerous times, you can't spar in the boxing section with socks. It's a slipping hazard.' No trace of the out of the blue romantic words, he bent down easily removing them from your feet one after the other.

It would be weird, if you weren't already so used to his skinship, his cuddling when he slept over, his hand straying over your shoulder on the couch, or brushing against your waist when he passed you. Yet, his thumb, on your ankle, his hand as he circled and held it, even for just the moment that he laid your foot down after taking off the sock, you felt… taken.

You wanted to snort, the wording completely off, I mean, he had a right over you, always had but-

He came into focus, looking up at you from where he sat, and asked lightly,' Do you wash these.'

Your mouth dropped open, as you watched him hold your purple socks in between two fingers, like it would bite him, or the smell would.

Your knee nudged at the side of his face playfully as you reached to pull him up. He took your socks, holding them properly now and put them in his bag, picking up the white tape he was fidgeting with earlier.

'So, will I be sparring with you today?' You were excited now. You had watched people vent and let themselves be free as they learned technique, let themselves be violent without consequences, the satisfaction on their faces after their sessions.

When he finally reaches you again he finds the catch and opens it out. White athletic tape, used to make arms and wrists stiffer, and to provide better grip, even with sweat and slick.

'No, not today. Let's focus on getting you worked up and tired. If you enjoy it, I'll gladly let you go toe to toe with me.' His eyes held a challenge, an underlying meaning evident.

Offering your hands up freely, he taped your wrists and fingers, you've seen him do it many times, just never on your wrists. Experimentally you shook out your fingers and bent and scrunched your wrist to allow for the right amount of tightness.

'Cocky, aren't you, Mr. Kim,' you side-eyed him.

He leaned into you, his breath teasing yours, 'I am the Coach here, y/n.' You blinked at the nervous fluttering in your chest, his intimidation, usually not directed so closely to you, doing something you couldn't explain, couldn't quite grasp.

Somehow, you should be scared, but it was, hot.

Leaning into him, breath for breath, you matched up, 'Then teach me.'

A slow smile broke out over his lips, playful Tae was back, it let you navigate things easier, you knew what to expect.

'So, I'm boxing the bag,' you deduced. 'I don't see why I need to tire myself out. I don't know how to do this.'

His palms closed over your cheeks, puffing your face up, emphasizing your pout. 'You are frustrated. You can't do anything about any of your emotions tomorrow, y/n. You have to be patient. You have to remind yourself it's a day at a time that gets you to your future. It will always be about patience.'

'Unfortunately, patience is overrated at something to 4am,’ you complained as he let go of your face and bent down to produce a new set of gloves from under the ring. Opening the zip of the bag, he pushed one toward you.

Shaking his head at your antics, not even phased, he strapped the gloves to both your hands and walked toward a bag. 'Come on, try it.'

'Color?'

'The yellow one.' He made to stand behind the bag you chose, and held either side of it, knees bent slightly in a defensive stance.

Feeling slightly out of place, and awkward, you huffed and punched the bag just to humor him.

You stared at it. The fucking thing didn't even move.

He burst out laughing at the comical look on your face.

'Okay, wait no,' he composed himself and came around you. His breath fanned your neck, giving you goosebumps, as he held your wrists and showed you how to punch. 'So straighten your elbow, like this, and pull it back in and see how the gloves are shaped, your forefingers curl above your thumb, so inside your glove your thumb shouldn't be in the fist.'

Nodding as you took in the new information, you did your best not to get distracted as he continued, all too comfortable in his element.

'When your wrist hits the bag don't curl it, let it face the impact head on. See, this is how you do it, so you don't break your wrist.' He made you punch the bag and showed you where your wrist was bending and how to keep it tight.

'Alright, baby,' that word, that goddamn word, 'you good to try again?'

Closing your eyes and swallowing hard, you nodded in answer and shook your head out of the Tae trance.

'Start with a simple combo this time, Jab, Jab, Uppercut, Hook.' You knew the names and their directions. Jab was straight forward, twice fast on the submissive hand as a set-up, the uppercut from downward into the abdomen or chin, depending, and the hook, from the dominant hand rounding off on the face.

'Think of it all y/n,' he encouraged, as he walked to his original position, 'the people, the words, the expectations, the beating up of yourself you do on a daily basis, and just go for it.'

Spreading your legs in a stance, aiming at the bag on his command, you clenched your fists and focused.

'Go'

----

'And breathe.'

Breathing heavily you fell flat to the floor, and stared up at the ceiling.

Sweat was in your eyes and your hair, but despite being in dire need of a shower, you felt oddly at ease. Tiny zings of exertion shot through your body as your lungs begged for air and you heard your blood rushing.

The roof was really pretty you thought, the wood positioned in long blocks to form and hold up the gable, grabbing your attention for the first time ever.

You blinked as Tae's face came into view, his hands resting on his knees.

He smirked cutely as he brushed your sweat slicked hair out of your eyes and off your face before reaching down to pick you up off the floor.

Handing you a water bottle, you let him manhandle you as he lifted your form to sit on the edge of the ring, launching himself up to sit next to, a second later.

'How do you feel?' He was proud of himself no doubt, after all, his plan did succeed.

You made a face at him, anyway.

'Hey,' he put both his hands up in mock surrender. 'It worked, didn't it.'

You cut him some slack, this time. 'Yeah, I feel icky, but definitely less worked up.'

---------

🎶 - Black Swan - BTS

TAE

Taking a swig of the water you had opened in your hand, he looks at the top of your head as he closes it and puts it away.

'Hey.'

She looks up at him, eyes hooded in exhaustion.

He smiles at her. Despite how much he loved her spitfire, she's adorable when she's not talking back.

He knew of the thoughts that crawled up her spine on a daily basis. He knew she had no plan, and it made her hyper that she didn't have one, but she couldn't make one because, what if she chose wrong.

He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to tell her that she could be whatever she wanted to be, and he would fly her across the ocean if she really wanted it; that she didn't need to worry about life so much because he would always take care of her.

'You're too sad.'

She scrunched her eyebrows at him.

'You have the whole weight of the world on your shoulders and you can't do anything about it.' He chose his next words carefully. 'I wish you could take a breather, and let a thought be a thought instead of picking it apart.'

He held up his hand to her when she made to protest.

'You know, things may not feel okay right now, with work, or at home, and in your head. But I've never seen someone adapt like you have. You bounce back, despite how much grit it takes.'

He took the gloves off her hand and carefully unwinded the tape on her fingers.

'I don't have answers y/n. But I do know you have me for a long time and I'm going to be here as you do your thing.'

Placing pressure on each finger he massaged the tightness out of it and flexed it for her.

'I don't know where you're supposed to go, if you were meant to leave and give me a round-the-world heartbreak, I'm not sure who you're supposed to be, I don't even know if you have a higher purpose, it wouldn't surprise me if you did, but you, y/n,' he heaved a sigh as he faced her, his gaze meeting hers, his next words the most important thing she'd need to remember,' you're a good you.'

As he met her eyes, her breath hitched. He heard it. He could see the flush in her face. He knew he was being honest. He knew he meant every word.

A half smile, a heavy acceptance, hands that were so easy to hold, eyes that were never anything but honest, a bond that all but forced a person to keep swimming. That was Taehyung to y/n. And that was y/n to Taehyung.

'You're a really, good you,' he reinforced. 'Right now, it works. I have a feeling it will work for a very long time.'

'I'm scared.' He could hear it in her voice. He heard it back when she was in her room too.

'Nothing is really set in stone, babe. And even though it does feel like you're running out of time, it's something you can't help. It's not what you want to hear but it's true.'

'How do I stop being sad?'

She was deflecting. But he had said it before, it wouldn't be gone tomorrow. Her anxiety and her fears, they will probably never go away.

She had the right way to go about it though. You get through it. Somehow. Some days it's a good cry, some days it's with a punching bag, and some days, it was with a best friend.

'See, now that's why you have me.' He answered confidently, as he put his chest out, his need to have her be okay, her smile, her laugh, his only intentions, his favorite thing these days.

'Oh really, you, why, because you're a clown.'

He feigned offense at the statement. 'Excuse me, I am not a clown, ask anyone that comes in for the 5am rush.'

She looked up at the clock in shock, it was really going half-four. She turned back to him sadly, 'I kept you up all night.'

'It was a fun night,' he replied, the teasing of many other ways to keep him up on the tip of this tongue, deciding against it, he looked away from her. 'You needed me, no amount of sleep is worth that.'

He didn't explain himself, he really didn't mind the lack of sleep. He could easily catch a nap in his office, or head home after half a day. But this, this moment with his best friend, that he wanted to be more, he knew he wouldn't choose to be anywhere else. He knew he'd do it over again too.

Pushing off the ring he grabbed the knapsack and handed her his shirt. 'Change out of that shirt, and use this one, you'll catch a cold, because of the sweat. And let's get you home, you need a hot shower, and sleep. I'll drop by for dinner after work too.'

Finally turning to her, he found she hadn't moved an inch, unshed tears in her eyes. Before he knew what he was doing, he pulled her toward him, sweat and all, and held her in his arms. 'You're first y/n, you'll always be first.'

A tender kiss on her head, his words rendering her speechless, and he knew uncharted waters were on the horizon.

This night, things that he'd said, the ways in which she responded, it was going to shift things for them.

But silence was comfortable for them. And she drank his share of coffee while he ate her share of pineapple, because he couldn't stand coffee and she hated pineapple. And he could hold her in his arms and she'd use his shirt while they slept.

It would start small, but he'd show her, the future was bright, she was deserving of more than she understood, she would be protected from her family and expectations and she would learn to remember, purpose or no purpose she wasn't alone, she never would be again.

#kim taehyung x you #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung #taehyung au #taehyung fic #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fics #bts aus #bts oneshot

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star-killer-md · 4 years ago

Text

Actus Reus, Mens Rea

@contesa-lui-alucard asked:

Hey hey happy sleepover my friend!! If it’s alright with you, I have two prompts from the Smut list that I’d love to see you combine for... mob Kylo and lawyer reader! Oh snap!! 15 & 37, if you please. If not, no worries, I still hope you have an awesome sleepover 😁 (“Make it hurt, baby.” + “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.”)

Anon asked:

hello, may i request clingy/possessive kylo,, thank you

Thank you lovlies for your requests and sorry from the bottom of my depressed ass heart that it took me so fucking long. Anyway here ya go, hope you enjoy some mobster Kylo deliciousness. I’m so excited you liked him Contesa, and I hope you’re into it as well too nonny! Sorry it got long, I truly have no control over that.

And thank you so much to @sacklersdoll for reading over this for me!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Angst (its me), Smut (its me), mentions of predator/prey dynamic (mostly as metaphor), possessive Kylo Ren, semi-public sex, no pronouns for the reader by they are afab, dominant Kylo Ren, some brat vibes, Kylo Ren is not nice, allusions to guns, some sorta stalking behavior

Ship: Mob Boss!Kylo Ren x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: You’ve started to take on some pro bono clients as a favor to a friend and Kylo Ren is Not A Fan™ of all the attention this guy has been paying you. After a few months of consulting on the side, you’re beginning to wonder if life working for a mob boss is something you’re really cut out for. Though you quickly learn that you very well may have passed the point of no return when Kylo shows up at your office to remind you just who exactly you work for.

“I really can’t thank you enough.”

You shook the woman’s hands and returned her smile. Her son stayed quiet, looking at the ground, but mumbled his thanks as well. He was a good kid. Just pissed off the wrong neighbor. One of those ‘get off my lawn,’ ‘good ole American dream’ types who thought welfare was a sign of the devil, and had it out for everyone in the lower tax brackets.

“Really, it’s no problem,” you walked them to the door, leaving her your business card. “I’ll see you both at the courthouse on Monday.”

Evan was waiting in your office when you returned. His patent leather shoes rested precariously on the corner of your desk and you knocked them off with a huff.

“See you’ve made yourself at home,” you said, crossing your arms and staring down at him in your chair.

He shrugged and stood under your scrutiny, moving around to take the seat across from you. Evan Goodman was an old friend from undergrad. You often got the impression he was still that same cocky frat boy in the head. Still flashed the ‘my daddy has more money than you’ smile on occasion when he really wanted to get under your skin. With his slicked back hair, unnervingly straight teeth, and his annoying prosperity despite never putting in much effort it was somewhat shocking the two still spoke. He was simply not the type of person who had ever needed to try. Success came naturally to him, and much to your dismay.

“What can I say? You’re a very gracious host,” he mused and leaned forward on the desk. “So, how did it go?”

You sighed, “They’ll be alright, might get saddled with a fine but the charges aren’t that serious.”

“Good, Rosa’s an old friend. I would have helped her out myself, but not really my deal ya know?”

“Yeah, Mr. Tax Attorney, I get it.”

Evan was kind of a dick, but he was also the kind of friend who would sit on the bathroom floor with you, hold your hair back and sing horrendous parody versions of ABBA no matter who heard. So you couldn’t hate him entirely. That also meant that when he came to you with cases like this, a favor for a friend or whatever the situation may be, you had a hard time refusing.

It was also a convenient front for you not-so-legal legal work you’d been invested in for the past few months.

“Seriously, I know I’ve been asking a lot of you recently,” he flashed you that god awful grin and kicked his feet up again. “You can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

He had been coming to you for pro bono work with increasing frequency, especially over the past month or so, but again, you didn’t wholly mind it. You went into this kind of work for a reason. Though, you were starting to get the feeling that a certain, brooding, less than lawfully abiding businessman did not feel the same.

Kylo Ren dealt frequently with the shady, black market underbelly of capitalist society, but you were less accustomed to his world and not completely ready to throw yourself to the hounds just yet.

You had already missed more than a few meetings and canceled on dinner tonight to meet with Rosa. To be fair, it wasn’t as if he’d made any indication this ill-defined whatever-it-was going on between the two of you was anything serious. And you were only his consultant, for now, so this took precedent anyway. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself of. Definitely not a way to avoid thinking about fucking your boss who also happened to be in with the mob.

Definitely not.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to help if I couldn’t manage it,” you yawned softly and stood to collect your things.

It was late and you were beginning to fantasize about how soft and warm your sheets would be. If you got back in time you could pop them in the dryer and get in an episode or two before bed.

“Hey, let me at least buy you dinner or something since I kept you out so late,” Evan parked his skinny frame in your path to the doorway.

“You’re going to apologize for keeping me out late, by keeping me out even later?”

“Do you want free food or not?”

Pursing your lips, you stared at him for a few moments. He really did know all your weaknesses. You had skipped out on meeting with Mr. Ren—or Kylo or sir or whatever the hell you were supposed to call him now—already tonight, however, Evan was sure to take you somewhere nice and it wouldn’t be so morally repugnant if it was just as a ‘thank you….’

“Okay, fine,” you conceded and let him lead you out to the parking garage, locking the office up behind you.

***

The next morning you stumbled past reception in a haze. Both from lack of sleep, and the bitingly cold winds battering your building despite the neighboring high rises blocking the brunt of the gale. The young woman at the desk informed you tersely that a Mr. Goodman was already waiting for you in your office and that you should really get here on time if you were expecting clients this early.

You agreed that, yes you probably should but, you know, “trains and all that mess,” and tried not to judge her too harshly. After all, she was the barrier between you and the hundreds of calls this place received daily.

Before slipping through the door with your name plate, you hung your coat on the rack and switched your phone on. It’d died on you last night amidst the allure of fancy, late night dinner and your sleep deprivation riddled brain had not cared enough to plug it in before bed. Fuck Amazon, but thank god for its speedy delivery of portable charges.

You chewed your lip as the lock screen came to life. One missed call and a text. Both, of course from the most anxiety inducing sender, Kylo Ren. Because why would it be anyone else? His name menacing even typed out in standard black font.

The text read:

Meet me at 8am.

It was very much like him—a command with punctuation and absolutely no details. The message receipt showed it was sent two hours ago, and it was already half past eight. Shit. Your fingers shook as you pulled up his contact and called. Every interaction left you coursing with adrenaline. Even now, miles away listening to the dial tone was nerve-wracking. Your heart pounded, hands slick in their grip on your phone. Maybe it was because you were never sure where you stood with him. Maybe it was because he was handsome and he knew it. Strong and he knew it. Intimidating and mysterious and closer in some ways to a Greek god than a man. He was all encompassing, and filled every available space in any room he occupied.

Sometimes you thought you might choke on his presence.

It rang once, twice, three times before cutting out completely. You stared down at the blank screen, biting your lip and shooting off a quick text. You were sorry, something important had come up, you would meet him the second it was convenient.

Evan slapped you heartily on the back when you came into the room. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, evergreen with small white blossoms.

“So, how many hours did you manage last night?” he asked, smiling his shit eating smile and seemingly unaffected despite the fact that he had to be running on just as little sleep as you.

“I’m not even sure at this point,” you groaned as you tossed your bags down behind the little metal desk. “Time ceases to exist when you take trains past midnight.”

“Fair enough. Hey look,” Evan waved the greenery in your face, “courtesy of Rosa’s shop. She insisted I bring you something as thanks. I figured you could put them out in the front or something to brighten things up.”

“They’re lovely. Please tell me you’re only here as a glorified delivery boy.”

His shoulders slumped at your lack of amusement, but before he could quip back the landline in your office rang. You answered, holding a finger towards Evan and leaning against the edge of the desk. It was the receptionist, Jess was her name? Maybe? You could never remember, someone else always addressed the holiday gift cards anyway.

“There’s someone here to see you at the front desk,” she clipped, almost more exasperated than before.

You told her you’d be right there and hung up. Evan grabbed his coat as you headed out, holding the door for you and following into the hall.

“I’ll leave you to it if you’re busy, but give me a call after Monday and tell me how it goes,” he continued rambling as you came out into the front.

You had a smart comeback prepared, something about how simple the case was, he should have more faith in you, he was the reason you were busy in the first place, etc…but every word turned to ashes on your tongue when you saw him.

Kylo Ren, standing right there at the desk and glaring at your receptionist. His suit was dark blue and ironed to perfection. Each leg was creased perfectly down the front and the jacket sat flawlessly on his wide set shoulders. He was a wall of unimaginably expensive fabric and what looked concerning like barely contained rage. You could see it in the twitch of his eye, the set of his jaw, and in the way his gaze landed on you the second you walked in.

The way a predator immediately hones in on its prey.

You froze just feet from him in the lobby, floundering like a fish on a hook.

Evan, for his part, seemed not to notice the tension at all and continued to say his long winded goodbyes, placing the flowers in your hands and completely unaware of the slow, measured tightening of Kylo’s massive hands into fists at his side.

“I’m free on Monday evening so we should—”

“She’ll be busy.”

Evan frowned, turning to face the man standing before him, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Kylo’s voice was a dark thing, low and rumbling, “She will be otherwise occupied.”

His words were punctuated by a step towards you, one paw of a hand easily gripping your entire jaw. Lucky he did too, otherwise it would have dropped straight to the floor when he shot one last cobra strike glare in Evan’s direction, and pressed his mouth to yours. Right there. In the lobby. For everyone to see.

The absolute bastard.

His lips were pillow plump and softer than the silk lining of his suit—and even through the surge of shock and embarrassment and more than a touch of anger—you felt your heart throb at the way he licked into your mouth.

The flowers tumbled from your hands onto the floor as everything in you went limp under his touch. This was nowhere near the first time you’d tasted him, but it was like this every time. Like drinking ambrosia. An otherworldly experience.

But that didn’t stop the sharp pain of his crushing grip on your arm, the way he nearly lifted your feet off the floor when he pulled away to drag along behind him. You could hear Evan spluttering in the hall behind you, the receptionist going back to clacking at her keyboard as if nothing had happened.

When Kylo opened your office door he just about threw you inside. You tripped as he tipped you in, stumbling and catching yourself on the edge of your desk. The power behind his hand alone was undeniable. You shuddered at the thought of the array of purple fingerprints he would leave behind. It made your mouth dry and your heart sink. Confusing and delicious.

And left you seething nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that?!” you were not calm, so you didn’t attempt any semblance of it.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said, level as he always was.

The quiet before the storm and all that.

“About the meeting? I tried to call, my phone died—”

“Because you were out catching trains at all hours of the night, I’m aware.”

You paused, glaring at the wall of muscle between you and the door, “How did you know that?”

“So you’re not denying it?”

Kylo stalked towards you like a beast in his tailored suit and polished leather shoes like talons. You could hear your heartbeat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. Just like a rabbit in the sightline of a hawk, you were clearly being hunted.

“Why would I deny something I’m not trying to hide?” your voice came out horse as he caged you between the desk and his chest, arms on either side to block any route of escape.

“No you are certainly not adept at subtlety,” he said and you couldn’t take your eyes off the way his tongue moved behind his teeth. “This is the fifth time that idiot in the hall has distracted you from work.”

“That’s not an answer,” you tried to spit the words but his eyes were boring into you. The honey of them spilled down your spine and made you shiver. “How did you know? You are not entitled to any information pertaining to my personal life, regardless.”

“Watch your mouth,” he growled. “Entitlement has no part in this.”

You were entering dangerous territory, though stopping curiously did not occur to you.

“I don’t think you have the right to be throwing out commands right now, not after that display.”

“Have you forgotten who you work for?” Kylo hissed at you, hands wrapped around the metal of your desk so hard you thought it might warp under his fingers.

“Of course not,” you desperately tried to keep your voice down lest anyone get even more a spectacle.

“Then what is this?” one hand left the desk and pulled a phone from inside his jacket.

The screen lit up, and you looked in horror at pictures of yourself. Pictures of yourself from last night. Pictures of yourself from last night at dinner with Evan, interspersed with shots of you crossing the street, waiting on the train platform, and stumbling back into your apartment. Each was clearer than you’d expected, presumably from some insanely expensive surveillance equipment. You had been out for hours, and you had been watched the whole time.

You narrowed your eyes, flicking back and forth between Kylo’s face—the graceful bridge of his nose pointed down at you—and gaped.

“You had me followed…” you breathed the words into the slowly shrinking space between your bodies.

He simply nodded, as if, somehow, you were foolish for not having considered this before. Perhaps you were. Perhaps you had no idea what you had gotten yourself into. Perhaps you had signed on for much more than a paycheck when you agreed to work for Kylo Ren.

“I can’t have my employees getting distracted.”

Kylo slowly drifted ever closer, shoulders bent so he was eye level with you. He pressed further into the desk, pinning you between his body and the hard surface that bit into your ass. Something long and thick and hard nudged your thigh.

“I don’t know why you though having me followed was necessary—”

“You’re an arrogant little slut who needs to be reminded of your priorities,” his hand snatched your leg and wrenched it open so he could stand between them, “ I am not something you do on the side.”

You could hear the way his teeth grit out the words, the way they formed as a growl deep in his beast’s throat. The hand still settled on the desk, skimmed up your hip and chest, his fingers

biting into your jaw.

“Do you understand me?”

Your lips were shut tight in a thin line, eyes wide and staring up like the prey you were. The silence only provoked him more. Snarling, two thick fingers wrenched your mouth open, pressing hard on your tongue and making you gag around them.

“Answer.”

Kylo Ren almost always spoke in commands. Having power did that to people, and rarely did it ever compel you, but his words sunk deep into your bones. Dredged up some dark, instinctual need to obey. To submit to this show of control.

“Yes,” you mumbled around his fingers in your mouth, drool slipping past your lips when they moved.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

You watched him suck his teeth, grabbing your face tighter and dragging you close so he could spit directly into your open mouth. He slammed your jaw shut, nearly taking off the tip of your tongue and hissed into your ear.

“Swallow.”

Again, you did without a thought. And it was disgusting, but invigorating, sent off some spark in your stomach with how easily he bent your body to his will. There was no man like him, you decided. And maybe this was simply because Kylo Ren was not a man. That term alone would never do him justice.

In one shockingly smooth motion, you found yourself flat on your back, ass hanging off the edge of the desk with his hands on your hips. He ground himself against you, the throbbing of his cock evident even through the layers of clothing. That feeling on its own had you soaked through, thighs sticking with liquid excitement.

“Remember who you work for,” he growled into your neck, licking a long stripe up your throat and sucking at the exposed skin.

But it was very clear to you what he really meant.

Remember who you belong to.

You slapped a hand over your mouth as he bit down on the skin just above your shoulder, laving his tongue over the stinging flesh. Kylo pulled back, frowning down at you and yanking the hand away from your face. One held both your wrists in a vice lock while the other ripped your panties straight down your legs and left the dripping fabric discarded on the carpet.

“No, they’re going to hear you,” he grunted, and pulled one of your hands down, pressing it to your slit and running your fingers through your slick. “Go on, touch your fucking pussy and let them know what a little whore you are for me.”

It was something about his voice. Something in the way it left him, its timbre, its wonder, unquestioning. You could never refuse him.

So, with a small nod you parted your folds, head resting on a stack of files as you drew slow circles around your clit with a shaky hand. His eyes never left your cunt, tracing the movement of your finger and the trail of wetness that seeped from you to the desktop. Softly, you gasped as the familiar placement of your fingers made you clench and arch up. Kylo’s rubbed small circles into your inner thighs with his thumbs, kneading the flesh there.

When the spark was there, the lovely pulsing in your nerves alight, you dipped down, teasing and slipping inside, grinding down as best you could on your hand. It wasn’t enough, but nothing ever was since you’d been ripped open on Kylo’s cock.

Evidently he did not find your work sufficient either.

Another finger joined yours, stroking your lips and circling your entrance. His touch made you whine, the promise of hands that were not your own never ceasing to illicit a new gush of pleasure.

“I said,” he murmured, his touch so terribly feather light. “Let them hear you.”

He was like a gunshot, sudden and forceful and almost instantly had you screaming. Kylo slammed his fingers into you, so full and so deep, curling hard against that lovely spot inside.

“Kylo, god, please—” you moaned long and low, your face burning with the knowledge that the walls were barely thick enough to keep your phone calls private, much less the shameful noises he pulled from you.

“What was that?” he panted, adding another finger and pumping them deep into your cunt. “You can do better.”

Your teeth dug so hard into your lip you thought it might bleed, but you couldn’t take much more. The ledge was approaching—Kylo Ren knew it—and he was determined to push you straight into the fire.

You choked when his deliciously thick fingers were ripped from you, walls fluttering around the awful emptiness. Your head lolled back as you listened to him work the buckle of his belt and slacks open, and when you did glance down your mouth watered at the sight. Kylo—impossibly long cock throbbing in his hand—stood between your legs, stroking himself from root to tip. You watched little pearls of precum bead at the head while his thumb swiped across to smear them along his length.

“You are insane,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Did you need to keep this position? No, technically you would be more than well off on the salary Mr. Ren so graciously provided. However, you could not mentally deal with being terminated for getting dicked in your office during work hours.

Kylo smirked, the edge of his perfect cupid’s bow cocked back and aimed straight at your chest. Without warning, he sunk into you, straight to the hilt and threw his head back as you sobbed with the sharp sting of being split in two on his cock.

“This is what you do,” he growled into your ear, hands on either side of your head as he worked his length back out only to pound into you again. “You work for me and you take my cock and don’t ever fucking forget that.”

Your legs were wound so tightly around his waist that had he been any other man, his ribs would have cracked under the pressure. His hair, falling in black, satin waves, was gorgeous even in the sterile office lighting. You threaded your fingers into it at the roots and held him while your body rocked against the desk. It’s metal surface pinched at your sink and made your back ache, though that was nothing compared to the burn of Kylo’s thrusts, sliding against your walls. You felt him in your throat. You always did. That was simply the way things were with him. He filled you painfully, thoroughly, took over all of your senses until it was just him.

And, strangely, it was the most alive you’d ever felt.

He was unlike anyone you’d ever known.

You couldn’t scream for him, but you could still let him taste the desperation, the willingness in your body to mold against him. So you kissed him, dragged him by the hair to meet your lips and licked past his teeth, gasping and moaning on his tongue as you sucked it hard and cried into his mouth.

And he drank you down, picking up a punishing rhythm and breaking blood vessels where his hands gripped your hips. One drifted lower, thumb pressing down hard on your clit as your cunt clenched around his length. The desk was lifting off the ground with every thrust, the room filled with the wet sounds of your bodies and you were quickly melting under him.

Warmth was spreading, growing, building out from your pussy, igniting in your veins. He was right. This is what you did. This is what he did to you. This toe curling, lip biting, bone shattering kind of pleasure.

Oh you were so royally fucked.

“I—oh shit—Kylo I’m,” you pulled back just enough to pant out a warning before the wave took you.

So hot, it washed over your skin and made your legs shake and your hands leave his hair to dig your nails into his chest through the crisp white button down he wore.

“Feel that?” he grunted as you convulsed and shuddered under him, “Feel how this pussy was made for me.”

You nodded, buried your face in his neck and held on as he worked you through your climax and straight into his own. Once, twice he ground his cock deep in you, feeling how tight you were around him until he was spent and spilling hot, thick ropes of cum that coated your walls and dripped out around his length.

He panted, lazily rolling his hips, fucking you slowly until finally, he came to a halt with his softening cock still sheathed inside you. Seconds past, or maybe hours, you couldn’t tell. Kylo tended to have that effect on you. Time slipped away so easily in his presence, like there was never enough of it.

When he did pull away, you stayed with your back firmly planted amidst the mess of scattered paperwork and manila envelopes. He rose to his full, towering height and tucked himself away, straightening the wrinkles in his suit and eyeing you only once from the side. You admired his profile, you never understood until now what the meaning of the word “regal” truly was.

Under the dictionary definition, his picture surely would be there, staring at you down the bridge of his marble carved nose.

You sat up on your elbows as he stalked towards the door.

“Was that all you came for?”

Kylo paused, broad back still facing you and leaving the room feeling irrevocably empty with just the intention of his absence.

“We’ll reschedule for five tonight,” he said, filling the door frame completely. “Don’t be late.”

The door clicked shut behind him and the sound of it made you collapse back onto the desktop. You laid there for a moment, leaking your combined spend and aching. The throb of him settled in your muscles and festered. But the worst part was the other ache, the pain of being without. And maybe you had been a bit avoidant. Maybe this work really was so you didn’t have to see him. Because if you saw him you’d end up fucking him—which was fine, which was good, which was great actually—but then he would leave. And you couldn’t decide which wanting was worse. The wanting before or the wanting after.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

You had more important things to think about anyway. Like securing the receptionist an incredibly large holiday bonus, assuming you still had a job here at the end of the day.

Maybe that didn’t matter either.

It might be high time you made a commitment to whatever the hell kind of mess you’d stumbled into. Kylo Ren was an enigma in the best kind of way. Maybe you should stop running from it.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #mob!kylo ren #lawyer!reader #dr. b writes #requests #adcu fanfic

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halorocks1214 · 4 years ago

Text

ბარტერი (a Thunderbirds fic)

Chapter 2: უბედურება

AO3 Link

Word Count: 2368

Summary: And here they thought getting their father back was the least of their worries.

Chapter 1 | [YOU ARE HERE]

I BE ALIVE. BARELY. BUT I AM ALIVE. my motivation levels are still dead to hell and back, especially for my other Big Fics atm, but my brain decided to hardwire itself all of a sudden for this one and i was able to squirm something out. no promises for consistent uploads just yet because A.) aforementioned “dead inside” ness and B.) college is starting in two weeks and im Very Excite!!!! hope you enjoy this update regardless!

warnings for VERY UNCOMFORTABLENESS. unconsensual/creepy sexual comments and actions are made and boy were they hard to write (sorry Al). also violence violence violence, but hopefully angery older brother makes up for it

He hated it he hated it he hated it hated it he hated it--

Okay, Alan hated a lot of things about this moment right now, so he should probably be more specific. He hated those men, he hated leaving Gordon, he hated how his lungs were trying to heave themselves out of his chest with the way he was running, he hated how there were so many obstacles in his path that it was slowing him down, he hated how he was effectively alone--

Wait, no he wasn’t, the comms! He never turned them back on! No wonder John always told him not to panic, it made him do stupid stuff like that! Not breaking his stride, Alan pulled up his wrist and tried doing just that, but before he could even squeak, a hand came around to the front of his face, essentially muffling him and holding him in one spot.

Okay now this was just straight awful. Bringing his hands up to try and get the stranger’s singular one off his face, Alan bucked and kicked his legs around like a cornered horse, anything to break free from this terrible grip. Jesus, wasn’t this man the smaller one? And he was still able to pick Alan straight up off the ground?! Just what do these guys eat?

Gross and creepy chuckling filled Alan’s ear, somewhat freezing his attempts at escaping. He was still struggling and twitching, but for some reason, his dumb brain was trying to get him to hear whatever this man was going to say, “Ooh, you’re quite the squirmer, aren’t ya? I suppose that’s not a bad thing with those freckles and all. Quite a few clients dig the young thing. The baby fat’s a nice touch, too.” As if those words could be any worse, the man used his free hand to pinch Alan’s cheek right after he finished talking.

Alan keened. He knew his whining was high pitched to begin with, but the noises that came from his mouth were on some kind of level only dogs could hear. Tears started pouring out of his eyes like molten lava, meanwhile, his incessant kicking started up again. This time, it got somewhat literal and kicked up a few notches. Swivels started being involved, and amidst his panic, Alan found it in his brain to try and aim his feet. Any hit landing would be stellar.

But as the Tracy Family Luck would have it, nothing seemed to be working. It didn’t help that the man’s creepy chuckles just seemed to get louder as more time went on. For a split second, Alan felt the man move about an inch as if he were about to drag Alan away to whatever torturous situation he had dreamed up for the blonde. Alan wasn’t aware hope could die in the blink of an eye like that.

But then they both stopped simultaneously.

The rather loud snapping of a tree branch from a few feet away made both men swivel their heads in the direction of the noise. Alan was shocked by how much he could turn with how his neck was essentially trapped.

Alan felt both relief and anxiety wash over him because that was Virgil coming through the bushes to see what exactly his youngest brother had been getting up to. But that’s also where the anxiety was coming from as well. There were very few ways this was ending, and even less of those endings didn’t involve blood.

“Alright, the two of you have been completely dead on the comms for the past 10 minutes and I don’t know which older person in our family I want to deal with less at the moment. You better have a good expla--”

Virgil looked up from watching his steps to see that it very much wasn’t Gordon with their baby brother. It was a random man, which his in-the-middle-of-a-job brain was going to write off as a person Alan saved while Gordon went off to save others, but then he blinked once. Then twice. Then he had to fight the urge to rub his eyes with fists like a scene from a cartoon because he had to let go and realize that yup, what he was seeing was real.

And he fucking despised it.

Because this random, strange man was holding Alan as if his kid bro were random cargo and not a person. His big, sweaty hand wrapped around Alan’s mouth wouldn’t be as incriminating (and it already was a thousand times) if Alan didn’t have giant, blatant tear tracks running down over them. Meaning the hand was there before Alan started crying. Meaning this man was the cause of his brother’s distress.

Virgil’s pupils shrunk (man, that’s a reoccurring theme tonight), and while Alan was scared before, right now, he was terrified.

The floodgates were opened, and Alan was hoping that the damage the metaphorical water created wouldn’t be anything close to the mess the literal tsunami they were cleaning up caused.

---

Virgil was the least violent person in their family.

That’s not to say his thoughts weren’t. Believe him, if you pissed him off the right way he could come up with some pretty beautiful imagery as a form of therapy, but what made him different is that he channeled that anger into something productive and helpful. He didn’t quietly carry out revenge plots like John or threw punches like Scott.

But right now, any kind of breathing exercise was out the door the minute his brain registered the scene. The way the man was gleaming at his brother like he was freshly cut meat was sickening and Virgil was literally willing to resort to a bloody killing to make it stop. What filled him wasn’t anger, nor was it fiery rage.

No, it was red hot, animalistic fury and God help the person who was able to make Virgil come even close to that.

It must have somehow displayed itself. Maybe it was the way Virgil’s eyes zoned in on the man, maybe it was his fists clenching so hard his fingers might break, maybe it was the way his breathing became ragged and dangerous, maybe it was Virgil’s sheer size alone; whatever it was, it made the man’s giddy look drop off his face at the speed of light into pure, unbridled terror.

Good, now he saw how Alan was feeling.

As soon as Virgil saw the man release his hold on Alan to try and run, the middle Tracy moved.

The man wanted to leave very suddenly, huge money-load or not. Sure, it would be a big loss to let go of such a highly well-known person (one that was so young too), but if it meant he wouldn’t be folded in a way that was akin to an origami project, then the man was willing to drop everything and run. He let go of the target, turned around and took about 2 and a half steps before--

The man yelped as he felt himself be grabbed and aggressively shoved into a tree, head bouncing off of it because of momentum. With a groan, he opened his eyes and cried out in fear. Right in front of him was that other IR member. The giant one with muscles as big as steel and probably has the ability to bench press a small herd of bison. He couldn’t help the trembles that were overtaking him, and he was hoping he would at least be alive long enough to go change into a new pair of pants.

“What,” the IR member growled out, “the hell, do you think you’re doing?”

His sputters were weak and laughable, but maybe they would convince the IR member to take pity, “W-W-What? C’ mon, man, I know it looks bad, and yeah, m-maybe you’re coworkers, but, like, als-so relent a little b-bit. He’s cute, n-no?”

A millisecond of silence. Suddenly, Virgil pushed his arms into the man even more, dangerously close to ‘be careful, he might not be able to breathe’ territory, “You’re sick.”

The man, in all of his panicked glory, felt the blood rush to his head and greatly affect his mouth. He was never good at tact, “H-Hey! Don’t kn-knock it till you t-try it.”

Before Virgil could even start to think, his fist moved and collided directly in the man’s face and nose. He's sparred with Kayo. He knew how to hurt. With a step backward, he watched with satisfaction as the man, who was now out cold, slid uncomfortably down the tree. The sight put a grin on Virgil’s face. It was the least he deserved: a crick in his neck.

Now then, this man clearly couldn’t be left to just wake up and go home. He was a menace, and Virgil would hate himself for leaving such a dangerous thing on the streets. The only problem the Tracy couldn’t figure out was that he wasn’t sure where he would put him on ‘Two. It wasn’t anywhere near his brothers, that’s for sure. As Virgil pulled out some spare rope he managed to just have on him (thank God for small coincidences), his mind gleefully became playful. Yes, the roof of his girl would be a fitting seat for his kind. Right as he finished tying one of the strongest knots he knew, he heard a small, quiet, and scared voice speak up from a few feet away.

“Is he, uh, going to wake up soon?”

Oh fuck. Well, any anger or rage left his body like a gust of wind.

Letting the man’s tied up hands fall from his grasp, Virgil snapped his head up to look directly at Alan as if his younger brother caught Virgil with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘Deer in the headlights’ was a good way of describing Virgil, actually. His eyes were wide and his pupils were small once more, but that was because he was suddenly panicking over what exactly all of this entailed.

Because Alan was as far away as he could be from the man but close enough to be able to see Virgil and what the brother was doing to said stranger. Alan was desperately trying to seem like he was holding it together, but the way he held his arms around himself, and the thin sheen of sweat covering his face, Virgil thought he wasn’t succeeding as much as he wanted. A little bit of color had returned, at least, it looked like that, compared to how Alan was when he was being held by his captor. Not to mention the now-drying tear tracks...

Was that Virgil’s breath that was extremely heavy and labored? You know, maybe he should stop doing that. Taking a deep breath, Virgil stood up one knee at a time and carefully walked over to his younger brother. It broke his heart to see how Alan tensed up, so Virgil slowed his strides and re-thought out his plan for when he got close enough to touch his younger brother.

About a foot away from Alan, Virgil held his hands up like he was coaching a frightened animal, staring into those gigantic baby blue eyes as if this were ten years ago and Virgil was comforting a brother that just had a nightmare, not a brother that was nearly… God, he doesn’t even want to think that thought to himself, “Hey. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Keep it specific, give the shock victim something to focus on. Alan took a moment to register Virgil’s words before taking a deep breath and relaxing ever so slightly, “N-No, he just… startled me. I’ve never…” Alan closed his eyes and shuddered, the awful memory from just minutes ago washing over him like toxic waste.

Virgil’s hesitation was next to none as he stepped forward and practically engulfed his brother in his large frame. If not for Alan, at least for himself, because his own shock was just about kicking in, adrenaline wearing off at the speed of ‘One. Jesus, that was close. Jesus, that was close. If Virgil hadn’t shown up at that moment, just a few seconds later…

After a moment of flinching (that Virgil didn’t notice, thank God), Alan eventually melted into his Virgil’s embrace wholeheartedly. Part of him was still tense, his body still not completely sure that the danger was gone, but boy did that not matter while his older brother was here. Heh, older brothers, Scott was going to freak about this, John probably wouldn’t be much better…

Oh, oh shit-

Virgil couldn’t stop the eyebrow raise, followed by his utter surprise when Alan suddenly shot out of his arms and started waving his own almost like a drowning man would. Virgil was very concerned over why Alan was getting worked up again, but before he could even say ‘what’ in ‘what’s wrong’, Alan practically read his mind.

“Gordon! Virge, oh my God, they have Gor-”

There wasn’t much explanation needed after that.

Except there was a little bit, mainly for Virgil’s sake. Alan’s panic was overtaking a lot of his common sense, and the last thing Virgil was going to let happen was Alan getting near any of these people, not even with 10 feet between them. So with Alan’s promise that he won’t leave Virgil’s side at all, no more than a foot at most, they both hoofed it back to where Alan last saw Gordon.

Virgil was about to put a leash on the kid with how much he was jumping out of his skin, but eventually, they were there, and Virgil regrets his whole just because you left Gordon doesn’t mean he was taken speech he gave to consol Alan, because the spot he led them to had nothing but a semi-ripped up, familiar yellow sash on the ground.

Alan’s grip on Virgil’s arm was better than a tourniquet they’ve ever used. At least Virgil won’t have to worry about him running off anymore.

Lifting his wrist so he could contact everyone else, Virgil could feel the blood drain from his face just like Alan’s.

“International Rescue, we… shit, John, we’ve gotta big problem.”

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #alan tracy #virgil tracy #my post #my fic

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ephemeral-afterlight · 5 years ago

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Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic!

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block.

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that!

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.

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vindicatedvirgil · 4 years ago

Text

amanda’s sanders sides binge reactions, episodes ten-sixteen

losing my motivation — making some changes

home maintenance is not a joke

infinitesimal

i don’t know, LOGIC

the game is on

all business

no you can’t play with us

i’ve been waiting for this day to wear it

he found a dollar

touching up some eyeshadow

what are these grounds

are they coffee grounds

/dadjoke

bleak

you’re not welcome

elementary my dear daddy

what

HE’S NOT ALWAYS THE BAD GUY

how do the sides borrow money from each other i’m confused

sir sing-a-lot

i am a knight thank you very much

oh no how could you do it i trusted you

what’s going on? something good

feelings. the bane of my existence

weird mushy vision you mean my entire catalog of fanfic writing

well who should have done that *cue intense music*

am i in a paradoxical loop

calm down time

that was dark even for me

yes go to the library

logan’s name reveal

Q+A time

laughy cry-y emoji

pouty mcspecs

i really need to up my roman giving nicknames game

his anxiety is heightened VIRGIL IS TALLEST SIDE CONFIRMED

so does roman have a fairy godmother

bippity boppity boo yah

i’m not okay

i promise

but also i am the walrus

wait that needs to be on my patton playlist brb

virgil likes tumblr hence he likes us

i need four cookies

and i will sit on a surface that is not meant to be sat on

patton doesn’t always screw stuff up

i also like podcasts

CAMPFIRE SONG SONG

virgil’s compliments are great what are you talking about

who is texting logan (my guess is orange)

who is texting roman (my guess is remus)

winnie the pooh~

logan tries singing to all star

and virgil just goes “yeahhhh”

i know big words

DO YOU KNOW HOW CUTE YOU ARE

relevant with yesterday’s skirt photo

fanart!

fanfic!

what is a ship?

virgil definitely knows because he’s on tumblr

thomas has a rat in his hair confirmed (it’s remus)

virgil is the first in this one too

sometimes i just gotta be me-an

hide under the covers until the sun goes away

chemically imbalanced romance

we’re donezo

never fear your creativity is here

thomas’ happiness is roman’s mission

cries

you shackle your creativity

wait

remus says something very similar

hmmmmmmmmm

brainstorming extravaganza

patton why were you not wearing your pants

KNIVES

is this why princey spit yogurt at me yesterday

i’m always serious. clearly. i wear a necktie.

roman wears the pants-

they are a family btw

lol time limits

do those exist in current episodes

FIGHTING

...verbally

OMG OMG IT’S TIME

aggressive bouts of beat poetry

nb royalty aka me

*nods like virgil*

WOO!

capita? like the cogitating cap?

patton would love untitled goat game

you tried you failed let’s go to sleep

booyakasha

logan you can’t just call virgil a defeatist

virgil’s face

and he just sinks out without saying anything

am so soft for the boy

roman name reveal!

hey roman

yes?

you’re my hero

SOBBING ENABLED

MY LIFE IS A LIEE

time for my favorite debate, much better than any political debates

analogical time

this could have been a logan centric video if virgil didn’t pop up

wow

we get it, you don’t want me here, but i’m here

i want you here

virgil please be in the video tomorrow

i too call upon very specific facts to feel secure

how bruised is roman

cardigan-clad clod aka me

same, cream based broths upset my tummy unless i take lactaid

wait logan can’t be objective?

haagen daaz dispersion

bad imaginary

vocab word!

a debate *snap*

i wanna be the supreme dark overlord of negative commerce

RIGGED

please help me *screams in agony*

me me big boy

too much pressure, nooo

do they groan in disgust about the butterflies in his tummy because they feel that way about each other or-

this is better than any political debate

TBD = totally believable dude

when did they vote on logan’s proficiency plan i wanna see this

of course it’s not a straight answer no one in this video is straight-

the first FALSEHOOD

did he just hiss at me

i’m right, you’re wrong, shut up

that’s a try guys reference

savage

this is stupid he’s stupid i’m out

LOGAN DOESN’T MIND VIRGIL’S COMPANY

your mom misses you

visual puns are great

amazing!

uhhhh

uhhh

mmmmmmm

no virgil you’re not alone

same patton, i’m always confused

surly temple is one of my favorite nicknames

NEIGH

MOO

BAAA

word association games return

don’t you dare turn breakfast food into a negative metaphor

was this really a necessary visual

screaming

voltron shirt *hits joan*

me watching sanders sides late into the night

great odin’s eyepatch!

well then it’s just 5am and you need to go to bed

keep it up so we get to see virgil more thanks

i’ve dreamed of this moment

NECKTIE

anatomically, thomas is fine

what is the gosh-darn-ding-dang point

adulto

so mean to patton

darude sanderstorm

i want to bounce in a bouncy castle

i want to join a book club with joan and thomas

verisimilitudinous

*gasp* not the necktie

you are the man. you look like the man. i fight the man. i want to fight you now.

janus also fights the man so-

you stole my look

is no one going to acknowledge that he just dabbed

logan asks for patton’s help when they can’t figure out what’s wrong

danny devito reference

mind palace!

star thingies

poor virgil and his eyes

adequate

EEYORE REFERENCE THANKS FOR NOTICING ME

for reference eeyore has always been my favorite disney character

and virgil is my fave

see any connections there

patton-cake

patton name reveal!

growing older is scary but being a kid was also scary because i didn’t know what was going on with my identity

patton understands virgil so well. cries. maybe the asides will fix their relationship

ECHO

listen buddy don’t blame us just because your mind is so empty

that was definitely roman

i didn’t know you made jokes like that

changing...evolving...mutating

why don’t we talk more?

uh oh, feelings

more sentimental than on avalanche

it is flippin sweet man

with you i’m always home-

additional affirmation

whaddup anxiety

if virgil is upset when thomas isn’t near his friends then isolation really has to be messing with him

joan!logan is amazing

terrence!patton though

he/him pronouns all around~

another danny devito reference

okay but talyn!virgil is the best

hissing

breaking the fourth wall?

single column?

aw patton loves thomas

hehe butt

“we are not actually your friends”

...what

VIKINGMETAL

BIBLIOTECA

i love libraries

I AM FRAIL AND BREAKABLE

a man of many talyn’s

also i didn’t make as many comments on this one because it’s 11pm and i’m starting to get a bit sleepy

#amanda binges sanders sides because they are too hype for the asides video #this is very long just a warning

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thegoldenavenger · 5 years ago

Text

Hmm, i was thinking about that fusion au post (that "full on steven universe fusion soulmate" post) and,, well. Fuck the word block limit. anyways i wrote this in three hours from like 1 am to 4am so it’s not beta’d and possibly fever-dream ish. this is around 4k. and has a readmore.

Tony gets a bit of a reputation. He's maybe a little too young when he goes to MIT, and too eager to learn and grow. Up to this point he'd been pretty isolated from those he could call peers and fusing with parents just never happened.

But at MIT, well.

He had maybe fused a lot.

Once or twice, unintentionally at parties where everyone was plastered and fusion was as natural as stepping in time with the next beat. He'd always been an adaptable kind of person, it was easy to fall in sync. He'd wanted to, badly. He'd wanted to be a part of something more than himself.

These times often ended with bewildered laughter and too many limbs overbalancing their awkward new body, and falling away from each other, no harm no foul. Snatched moments where Tony didn't have to be stuck, alone, in his own head.

There were times he fused deliberately. Clasping hands with Rhodey in his apartment, grinning to the low bass of his sound system as they embraced each other and became each other. Luxuriating in late night drives in Rhodey's car, deciding what gas station snacks he wanted--or no, a 24 hour diner! He loves those homefries.

Or when Tony met Ru and his hands shook so, so much when she grinned at him underneath a maple tree but he took the step forward anyways and they walked along the river side, peering into the water at their reflection. Their hair curled around them, textured differently, held a different length than they expected but they liked it. They liked a lot of things. Relearning Rumiko's elegant motorbike was one of those things.

There's Ty, and Janet, and Gene. He's not indiscriminate, but rumours fly as they are wont to do. And then some pap catches the moment Tony and Ty become one, and. Well. Tony doesn't necessarily care, but Ty does. And when his father finds out, Howard is furious.

Still, Tony can't find it in himself to change. He steps perfectly with Sunset when she asks. It's so easy to get lost in her eyes. And maybe it's weird how together she’s so... limbed, and her voice feels like gravel in their mouths. But she’s having fun, even if she seems distracted by the papers Tony had left out.

Sunset cashes in on Tony's blueprint barely a week later.

He gets it, he does. There's a reason people wait for The One. Incompatible fusions can be dangerous. He understands that.

But he doesn't want to be, you know, himself for this Christmas. With the Rhodes on vacation and him stuck in a cold manor. Only his parents for conversation. Good ol' Obie takes some kind of pity on him, because he invites old friend Ty over for Tony's sake. And just like old times he manages to bully his way through the dinner.

He's in Tony's room, because he's not fit for public, after the dinner. He drinks and has a party of just himself, while Tony's parents drive to some fancy gala.

For some reason he's gelling more than usual, the swirling anxieties in his minds complementing even though he has too sharp teeth and eyes too many.

It's not great when Obie knocks on Tony's door and says a set of words that has half of himself blanking out. His shape gets wobbly, and he spills apart. Tony's too numb to sync with anyone anymore.

Later he'll over think this moment. If he hadn't been fused, he might've gone with his mother and dad. Been there for the accident. Maybe he'd be driving instead. Maybe he could've stopped it.

He stopped fusing for a time. His reputation never left him, but stepping up to helm the Stark business meant he had to change. There was no more room for something more than just Tony Stark.

The less said about his captivity the better.

He thinks they broke him.

He thinks that when they scooped out his chest they took the part of him that could sync, that let him become a them.

He thinks that, because when Rhodey clasps his arms around him and their foreheads touch, Tony should stop being Tony and start being Them. He and Rhodey had long grown out of having to dance to sync. Just the emotion ought to be enough and God knows Tony is feeling it.

Anyways.

So Tony never loses that reputation. It makes it awkward when he won't fuse with the team.

"It's not you," he says, and it must feel like the most cliche of cliches. "Except for you, big guy, it’s definitely you." Hulk gets a gentle pat though, because honestly, Tony would pick Hulk over the rest of the team to fuse with if he could. SHIELD would quake at the thought, and that's almost tempting enough to try.

The rest of the team is seamless with their fusions. Even Steve, who had given up his dream of waiting for The One with a 70 year ice nap and a resigned look, and excepting Thor, whose people didn't Work Like That.

Tony doesn't--can't--doesn't fuse anymore.. But he watches. The graceful arc Nat's body makes as Clint lifts her and they shimmer into a large, deadly, graceful fusion. Strong limbed and silent as they stalk through the battlefield.

Steve hurling his shield and catching Hulk's hand, the two of them seeming more to force themselves together like two cement walls colliding. And they aren't anything as graceful as Black Hawk Down over there, leaping across rooftops, but they catch Steve's shield and remember not squash all the cars in their way.

Tony has JARVIS in his ear, Iron Man wrapped around him closer than an embrace. He likes to say Iron Man is his fusion, and in a way it is; it's the closest he'll ever get to syncing with JARVIS--or anyone, now.

Watching Captain America's face as he sees a piece of his past walk into his life again shifts something in Tony's chest. (Of course he recovered the footage from the helicarriers)

Tony is surprised they don't fuse the moment Bucky's fist hits Steve's cheek.

He thinks Steve is surprised as well.

Tony thinks he can't fuse anymore. But there's no reason Bucky shouldn't be able to. Natasha is almost exact proof of that concept. But for some reason, Bucky and Steve haven't fused once. Even now, that Bucky's nominally an Avenger. Tony has seen Sam and Steve's fusion fall apart more than once even when they'd start out strong.

Steve's guilt throwing them out of wack, Tony would guess, but he's not an expert on fusing.

"Neither am I," Pepper says, long suffering as Tony bats a perpetual motion gadget on her desk. He looks into her liquid blue eyes. If he'd met her earlier he'd know the rhythm she would move in and how best to compliment it. He thinks, if he'd met her in college he'd have fallen into fusion as often with her as he had with Rhodey.

He's a little melancholy at the fact that he'll never know what they could be as a them. He likes to imagine they'd be as competent as the super spies, but for some reason he thinks they'd turn out more like the Hulk.

He tries not to think about Rhodey and Pepper determinedly not touching, like accidentally fusing in his presence would be a crime. Like they don't think he could handle them. Like they thought he should be a part of them.

"Yeah, but you have all those romance novels hiding on your shelves--"

"They aren't hiding, and if you think comparing Steve and James' situation to a book where everything can be solved with a little lucid dreaming--"

"That's it!"

"What--no, that's not what I said!"

"You're a genius, Potts!"

And Tony gets to work.

The glasses reframe past events so your present mind can work on getting closure from them.

Bucky is hesitant at first.

"They're mostly safe--"

"Mostly?" Bucky asks, his mouth held in a resigned, bemused little quirk.

"I've tested them myself, just a little mild nausea and headaches--yes mostly, this is bleeding edge right here. You have to expect the bleeding part to come in somewhere." A pause. "Metaphorical bleeding. Or cathartic bleeding, I guess."

Bucky asks for some time to think about it.

The next time they talk about it, it's like no time has passed. "It's immersive, but there's a hard stop motion involved. It can be cut off at any time, immediately, with little more repercussion than a headache."

"Immersive?"

"Well, what's the point of reliving trauma if you're not interacting with it at a 120 refresh rate?"

Bucky shakes his head. But he has that little amused despite himself smile.

Steve asks for updates and progress reports and generally floats around like a mother hen. He's nervous but eager, asks if he can be involved, if that would help, he's always there to help.

Tony says that Nat will probably be helping Bucky since she has an exceptional frame of reference for this, and a relationship with Bucky to boot.

"I don't mind Natasha, but I want you there, too."

It surprises both of them that Bucky means Tony and not Steve.

The first session with the retroframing device is more like a sleep over. Tony is using it, to demonstrate how it works with a relatively low chance of running into something heavily traumatizing for a dry run.

"I love the guy, it's just, hard, to focus on this stuff when he's right there."

"Feels like too much pressure to get it right?"

Bucky humms so Natasha says, "It feels like getting it right would almost be worse than how it is right now?"

Bucky shakes his head, then nods.

"I remember what he does, mostly, but it's so much farther away from me. I don't love him less but I've changed. And I think... even if this works I'll still be changed and he won't know how to deal with that."

"He might think you still need to be fixed, even when you're fine," Tony says, as he watches a younger him walk across a red lacquered bridge.

"I don't want to disappoint him, but what if I've just. Changed too much. What if we're too different now?"

The Tony from his memory pauses at the end of the bridge as a gust of wind blows plum tree petals across him. He reaches out but doesn't catch any.

"He'll get over it," Natasha says, straight forward as ever, the corner of her mouth lifted.

"Friends are good like that," Tony says.

Behind them, the rev of a motorcycle peals into the scene, disturbing the quiet of the blossoms and the other Tony, leaning against the bridge. The bike brakes in front of Tony, and the rider pulls off her helmet. The passenger doesn't have a helmet.

"Sorry Tony, I had to crash your date," Tyberius says, grinning as he holds Rumiko's waist.

"His father called," Rumiko said, her eyes rolling. But all three of them knew about fathers.

The other Tony wrinkled his nose, but waved them off, "Yeah, yeah. Next you'll be telling me you're working late and you can't come home." He pouted, in character, as Rumiko revved her bike.

"You'd never buy it," Ru laughed, "You know I don't work!"

The memory dissolved around them as Tony lifted the glasses off his face.

Tony and Nat and Bucky work together well. On the field and in the lab, where they help walk Bucky through his past and help him reclaim it.

It's not any surprise when, halfway through a seemingly innocuous memory of The Winter Soldier learning ballet Bucky and Natasha fuse. Almost unintentionally, but with an elegance that Tony almost misses it completely.

The environment glitches--the glasses unsure how to deal with this--before settling on a semi fragmented repetition of the current scene. The culmination of Bucky and Nat, blinking confusedly at her hands, repeated endlessly.

She take off the glasses, study herself and say, "it's been so long."

So Bucky can fuse. Steve recoeves the news with restrained glee, but he doesn't push to get a punch on Bucky's new dance card. He seems happy enough that Bucky is on the metaphorical upswing.

Knowing Bucky is taking care of himself seems to help Steve take care of himself too. He no longer stumbles out of step in battle, and holds his battle fusion with sam for longer than strictly necessary.

"You're an indescriminate, selfish piece of work!" Steve had said when he and Tony had first met. "You'd throw yourself at anything that moves as long as your life isn't on the line!"

Tony hadn't been thinking of it then, because the scepter had been pushing him into focusing more of the red hot feeling of, "You don't know anything, times have changed cap! But I guess an ice nap will do that to you, even if you are a super soldier." but with time as a buffer Tony can now wonder what SHIELD had been showing Steve.

"You want to talk big but can you back it up?"

"You wanna fight? Of course you do, that's all you were made for."

"Put on the suit."

"What, tired of looking at me?"

"I'm going to punch you and I'd rather fall out of this plane then touch you."

Steve had apologized. Tony doesn't know what prompted it, because Tony hadn't changed his attitude after diving into a worm hole, but Steve had gripped his hand, solidly. There hadn't been music playing but Tony doesn't think that would've stopped him.

Steve had certainly put a lot of effort into showing Tony that he definitely didn't mind touching him, even when the risk of fusing was high.

Something that had unseated itself when the scepter had been playing games edged back into place.

"This is going to be rough," Natasha said.

"Can't be rougher than seeing the Red Room," Tony said, expecting Natasha's husky laugh. Instead, she was frowning.

Bucky--memory Bucky, the Winter Soldier--was gearing up for something.

Bucky--the now Bucky--watched with furrowed brow.

The Iron Man suit was a prosthetic of a sort, but not the kind that would be able to replace a limb. Tony had to reach out to a dozen consultants to get the frameture right. To figure out how to counterbalance weight and friction.

Bucky had been hesitant to accept a new arm, and Tony found himself unwilling to push it. But it sure made latching onto Steve's shirt before he jumped off a building without a parachute again a lot easier.

The Winter Soldier revved the motorbike and cut through the cold night air, headlight lighting the way.

"What, what's worse than handcuffed little girls?" Tony asked, a little alarmed.

"He didn't tell you?"

The data drop was huge, and Tony had JARVIS scrape for every piece of data he could. He helped Barton coordinate rescue efforts for agents with blown covers.

It helped him put in a framework for a location program that would be ready by the time Steve reached out to him.

Seeing Steve's face as a piece of his past walks into his life again wrenches something in Tony's chest. Like a chance, or a choice.

The Winter Soldier turns down a road. The road. Tony blinks.

"What--" he knows this road.

Nat turns her head sharply and starts forward. "Bucky! нет--"

"Thank you," Steve says, which surprises Tony because it's not like he's stopped being an asshole all this time. He's still Tony. But helping Steve help Bucky slots something into place.

Tony crashes Rhodey's whatever it was he had planned to whine at him, and generally be relieved that Rhodey is there to whine at. He finds himself thinking, thank God it was me and not him. Tony doesn't envy Steve.

There's a car that the motorcycle is fast approaching. It speeds up, and the Winter Soldier reaches out and

The world dissolves as Nat shouts нет again and Bucky takes off the glasses, wincing hard.

Tony is still. "I know that road--I--" he stops.

"I mean it, Tony. Thanks for bringing him home."

Tony can't find the words to respond, he's too busy hyperfocusing on one word: home.

It's taken years. This is the first time any of the avengers has referred to the tower as "home".

Tony's had a couple homes. His Malibu cliffside mansion, where he and Pepper and Happy hide out. This tower. The pent house suite in Japan with Ru, even after the scandalous photosin the gossip rags. Rhodey's house, and Roberta's cooking. And, despite everything, the manor Fifth Avenue and all it's ghosts.

"That was my father's car," Tony says, harshly.

"I thought he told you," Natasha puts herself between Tony and Bucky, like Tony is the threat here.

"Told him what?" Bucky asks and Natasha's eyes wince a little.

"My parents were in that car!" Tony's voice is a little hysterical.

Captivity hadn't made Tony paranoid though it hadn't helped any. Papparazzi, paid spies. Sunset Bain using fusion to get his plans. Tyberius Stone filling binders with photos documenting Tony's life for profit.

His father didn't take care of much besides his business and his cars. The wreck had seemed fishy.

The Iron Man suit started out as a Frakenstein of misisle parts and sheet metal, but now he had a gauntlet in a watch.

"My mother was in that car!"

At some point, Steve had been alerted.

Tony can't beat Natasha in a fair fight. That's just a fact. But he doesn't think about that as his watch unfurls around his hand. She's not expecting it, clearly--she'd written narcissist not paranoid--because he can push her away with it's strength.

Bucky shakes his head, "I don't--I don't know, what," but he's not stupid either, he can put together the peices.

Steve can't be heard through the reinforced glass, and JARVIS is reluctant to let him in. He starts punching.

Tony reaches Bucky, who raises and arm. It's barely a fight. Even with the gauntlet, Tony built Bucky's arm too well. Tony just needs to get under his gaurd though, and he clenches his gauntleted hand in Bucky's shirt, and Bucky starts trying to pry it off.

Tony doesn't know where Natasha is but that matters less than nothing to him as he rears back his right fist and punches Bucky square on the jaw.

Glass shatters.

There's a moment where Tony and Bucky meet eyes, where they inhale the same breath. Fear and loathing and raw anger flush in their hearts and they may as well be stepping to the same song and

they stop being Tony and Bucky

And start being They.

Their hair falls in their eyes and they don't move for the longest time, heart rate slowing as they heave breaths.

Irrationally their first thought is "there's no way I'm going by Bony." It sends a wave of laughter through them, startling their friends.

"Bucky?"

"Tony?"

Come two voices, cautiously.

"Starchanan." They--he? Yeah, he.--says.

"Of course." That's Natasha's wry humor.

"What happened?" That's Steve, standing in a pile of reinforced glass, his knuckles bloody.

Starchanan focuses on that and frowns. He's mad about that. Not only should the glass have stopped Steve--Steve shouldn't have been using his knuckles in the first place, the dumb ass is incapable of not hurting himself when there's a door right there.

Natasha faces Steve. "I thought you told Tony!"

Steve's face lifts in surprise, shock, dismay. Starchanan decides he doesn't want to hear what he has to say.

It's been literal decades since Tony has fused and Bucky isn't all that practiced anymore either. But fusion is always a conversation and they both know how to talk.

Starchanan isn't as tall as Black Hawk Down--is that what I call them? Yeah, it's funnier than Clintasha--but he is built like a shit brick house.

Bucky's arm must have--

Tonys electronics got--

He's got some fancy equipment straight from the box. Shining palms wired to a glowing heart--that's all Tony. There's a heaviness in his shoulders and when he investigates it, it feels like there's a structure underneath--that's gotta be Bucky's fault.

"It's to help with recoil," he says aloud, cautiously. "Without it, 'd probably dislocate my arms using these." Saying it outloud feels better. Like it's truer.

He looks in the mirror. He looks surprisingly stable for a fusion made after discovering a murder. He should probably call someone.

"Rhodey, Pepper." He says immediatly, then winces. Then shrugs. He'd feel bad for leaning too much on Tony's friends, but he doesn't want to see Bucky's.

"This is..." Pepper starts.

"Unexpected?" Rhodey finishes.

"Yeah," Starchanan agrees.

Rhodey shakes his head, "You're really going with Starchanan?"

"Are you saying you're voting for Bony?" He asks, incredulously.

"I was thinking Winter Man sounded nice," Pepper said from behind a smile.

"Iron Winter," Rhodey tried.

"The Man Winter," Starchanan added.

It was a distraction but it was a nice one.

Now that he knew he could do it, he kind of was overwhelmed with a desire to fuse with his friends. The people he had spent the last years, months, days getting to know (again). But he wasn't done with this conversation yet, so he walked through the halls of Avengers Tower and talked.

"Eh, I'm practical." Clint says, pressing buttons on the remote, opening menus, closing them, shaking the remote in frustration. "You know, someone says fetch I fetch, someone says shoot I shoot."

Starchanan grabs the remote from Clint's hand and turns the captions on for him. "Someone says kill the enemy spy, you drag her in from the cold."

"Like I said, practical."

"Betty would've stayed with me, but I was too afraid." Bruce says. "I didn't know what would happen if I lost control, or if we fused. Or if I lost control while fused--or fusing." He takes off his glasses and cleans them.

"She wasn't worried?" Starchanan asks, spinning himself around on a chair.

"She was worried I hated myself so much I'd do something about it."

"Did you?" He asks, though half of him knows the answer.

Bruce looks placidly at him, then smiles. "Yeah."

"How'd that work out for you?" He couldn't help the disgruntled frustration stirring in him.

"Surprisingly, that wasn't the healthiest thing I could've done."

Starchanan stops spinning to fold his hands on the island, and press he forehead to them. He made a noise like the spinning made him dizzy, but Bruce could see through it no doubt.

"But. I'm here now, and this is. A lot better than I'd ever let myself dream of before. Letting myself have it is hard, but worth it."

"I thought he had explained." Natasha said.

"You could've instead."

"It wasn't my secret."

"It shouldn't have been a secret."

She presses her lips together. Sighs. "I didn't want to be a reason Steve and Tony fought."

"We fight all the time."

She laughs. "A real fight--I don't like when mom and dad fight."

His mouth twitches. "You'd be a hell child."

"That's the only good kind."

"Sharing your entire being with another, without reservation, is truly a wonder." Thor said, grabbing another bag of popcorn.

"Little bit," he replied.

"What's it like? Jane had described it to me as a joining of two books. Reshuffled to make a new story."

Starchanan thought on that, but decided the metaphor didn't feel right for him. "For me--both of us--It's like a conversation."

"A good one?"

"It can be."

"What is your conversation about?"

He looks into the mirror. It's safety glass because Tony has a habit of punching his reflection. Starchanan understands the action, but feels no urge. His reflection is interesting, not frightening.

His face is even, with big eyes and heavy brows. His hair is wavey, soft, and curls around his ears.

His face is growing familiar.

"I'm sorry." Steve apologises. Of course he does.

"I don't think I forgive you."

"Will he? Will they?"

"You'll have to talk to them yourself." Starchanan says.

Steve nods, shoulders heavy and tense as Atlas. Starchanan doesn't resist the urge to punch Steve's shoulder. "Look, I don't forgive you. But we should talk anyways."

"I didn't think--"

"Not about that, we're, well. Not done. But we're moving on from that now."

"Then what do you want to talk about?"

"Hmm. Have you ever been on a road trip?" Starchanan asks, "There's a lot of places I haven't been."

Steve looks up, done wringing his hands. "I might be able to help with that."

#kamaeteWRITES #tony stark #bucky barnes #avengers team #fusion

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imyourliquor-youremypoison · 5 years ago

Text

The Flip Side (Peter Parker x OC - Oneshot)

Synopsis: Hurt/Comfort. Aged Up!Peter is in College now, but that doesn’t mean he relayed his Spider suit to the back of his closet. How does one balance out personal and superhero life?

Does not take into account the Far From Home post-credit scenes; spoiler-free.

Word count: 9.2k

MASTERLIST

High school hadn’t been a walk in the park for Peter. One would argue that high school was tough for most people, but he thought he had had it worse, and he wasn’t wrong. Most people didn’t lead a secret double life they had to hide from the world lest it jeopardize their other, normal life. So, if someone had asked Peter back then what he wanted to do with his life, he wouldn’t have known what to answer; or rather, he knew what he wanted to say but feared the answer would disappoint.

Peter Parker wanted to apply for College and get a degree in physics, but that hope was shot dead when he received his report card on his last year. Being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man did not allow for much study time, and his grades suffered from that. The consequence of this was that Ned got the scholarship for the University he wanted, and Peter didn’t.

He had thought that was it – he couldn’t ask his Aunt May to take up a loan to pay for his tuition, and what was he going to do with that degree anyway? Being a superhero didn’t require going to college. That was when Pepper Potts knocked on his door – metaphorically – and pulled a joker out of her sleeve.

Tony, ever ahead of everyone else, even in death, had opened an secret account in Peter’s name that he would only access at age eighteen, and that contained a frankly obscene amount of money meant to be his college fund (but that would surely last him a lifetime and leave him wanting for nothing). At least, he wouldn't have to live in a shared dorm room and that had to count for something, especially when you considered he would have had to wash his Spidey-suit in the laundromat.

This unexpected divine intervention from late Tony Stark had sparked hope in Peter’s heart and he dared wish for things once again. He ended up going to a different college than Ned, but he didn’t let that dampen his mood: he had to consider this a fresh start. And a fresh start it was because he knew no one, he was far from his best friend, his aunt and even more so from MJ who had left him earlier during their senior year on the ground that high school crushes don’t last.

He had been miserable at first, but quickly understood where she was coming from. They stayed good friends, though they tried to keep their interactions to a minimum and never hung out alone again after their breakup.

Despite all of this, Peter Parker felt ecstatic, like there was electricity in the air, when he walked on his new campus – at UC, Davis - , feeling like any other anonymous student in the crowd. He wouldn’t waste his chance at starting fresh, he owed it to himself. It was hell week, the worst time for freshmen; Peter thought he was the only person looking forward to being hazed.

When he moved out of his and Aunt May's apartment in Queens, he pictured a lot of things for his new life. Going to college, becoming an adult, being independent and surveying a new territory. He hoped to make friends quickly, have interesting classes, good grades, maybe get a girlfriend at some point - that was the dream. He never expected to find one on the first day, especially not during a three-legged race because the resident jock asked him to switch partners so he could be with the local cheerleader type girl.

“Hey man,” the tall blond had greeted him, slapping his shoulder so hard Peter thought he might have dislocated it if he wasn’t super-strong. “I got an idea. What about you go over there and ask the hot red head if she wants to trade places with you?”

This felt oddly familiar to Peter, being the loser people tried to get rid of. He looked over at the above-mentioned red head and agreed that she was very pretty. She was standing next to a shorter brunette and they were laughing together. He always admired the way girls flocked together and could act as if they had known each other all their lives even though they just met.

He didn’t feel like refusing the jock this favor because surely that would backfire. Not to mention that he didn’t particularly want to be hazed alongside him. All the first years trying for a science degree were gathered on the lawn and had been asked to pair up with someone they didn’t know.

Peter shrugged and walked over to the red head.

“Hi- Hi, my name’s Peter,” he awkward introduced himself, feeling terribly self-conscious when the tall girl stopped laughing and gave him an ice-cold glare.

“What can I do for you?” The temperature dropped even more when she opened her mouth.

“You see the guy over there?” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder, and her eyes followed the movement, landing on Mr. Blond Jock, a smile illuminating her face.

“I see him, yes,” she cooed and gone was the icy tone.

“He asks if you want to pair up with him.”

Peter stuck his hands in his pockets, feeling terrible for the other girl who surely hadn’t won anything in this sudden swipe, but the red-head eagerly agreed, forgetting about her new girl friend and scooting over to the eye-candy.

He hadn’t thought as far as to consider that he was now paired up with the brunette, and they both stood there, staring at each other like statues, not moving an inch. If he didn’t speak right the hell now, the awkward would only grow until it became irreversibly tense, so-

“I, ugh, I’m Peter,” he managed to say, not entirely sure how.

The tension left her shoulders and she gave him a coy little smile.

“I know, you just said it,” she giggled, adopting a more relaxed demeanor and letting her hip jut out instead of standing straight as an ‘I’. “I’m Elle.”

She held out her hand for him to shake. It was a bit of a formal greeting, but she thought it better than simply stand there, hands in their pockets. Taken aback, Peter merely stared at her hand for a moment too long before shaking it, and she laughed.

“Breathe, Peter. I don’t bite.”

“Sorry.” He blushed and tried to discreetly wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. “First day… I’m a bit of a nervous wreck.” Yeah, great Peter, just tell the pretty girl that you have crippling anxiety, why not pull out your inhaler too to impress her, ugh?

“Oh, but you should be,” she told him, still grinning. “It’s not called hell week for funsies.”

“Wow thanks, I feel so much better now!” She laughed again; it was a nice sound and he noticed she scrunched up her nose when she laughed. “What’s your major?”

“Biotechnology. What about you?”

Peter’s eyebrows met his hairline and he had a slight backward movement upon hearing that. He didn’t expect that, but then again, what did he expect?

“Applied physics, which sounds less fancy than your major, I admit,” he said with a throaty chuckle that quickly turned into a cough.

They only talked for a few more minutes before the Seniors in charge of the freshmen asked for their attention.

“The person you paired up with will be your teammate for the upcoming week, whether you get along or not,” they explained. “It’s part of the game, so play along or suffer the consequences.”

Apparently, the hazing would start slow to let them warm up – said with a sadistic smile on their faces. For starters, a three-legged race, two against two, and the losers had to down shots. Peter was not looking forward to what was to come after that, but he thought that at least, he had found an amicable partner to suffer through this week with. He hadn’t done too badly for a first day: Instead of being paired up with the jock and winning the race, Peter got Elle and while they might have ended up last, neither felt like they lost.

The world had healed from Thanos, or at least it seemed like it was doing well. Losing so many people at once had been a shock. All of a sudden, there was no more housing problems, no more issues with finding a job, or parking your car. Less pollution, less waste, more space. But it came with the devastating truth that your loved ones had turned to dust and disappeared from the face of the earth.

Nature at least, did a lot better with half the human population gone with the wind. When everybody came back, people were too happy to fully understand the effects it would have. It was disastrous. The Vanished simply reappeared where they disappeared, creating chaos all around the globe. They hadn’t aged, hadn’t a clue what happened, and wanted to pick up where they left off – expect they couldn’t.

Those who stayed had aged, had moved on as best they could. Old people had died, children had grown up, people had gotten married, babies had been born. A new President had been elected, those who vanished had been replaced, simply put. It was difficult, but the human species was a resilient one, and they had made it work.

Every year, there was a bank Holiday to remember the fateful day of the Snap, five years ago. Peter stood on the lawn in the middle of campus, right next to Elle. They were dressed up, as required, and stared ahead without saying a word, without smiling, or sending each other a teasing look. A minute of utter silence ticked by, making Peter’s ears whistle. Not a car honk, not a plane, not a cough was to be heard. The world was holding its breath for sixty long seconds.

And then it was over. People started moving again, breaking the impeccable lines they had formed and erupting in chatter as if they hadn’t spoken in days rather than seconds.

“We should go to town,” Elle blurted out, not yet looking at him. In fact, she was the only still standing straight and looking at the monument erected to commemorate the Vanished.

“But everything’s closed today,” Peter pointed out. She finally tore her gaze away from the statue and met his eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly upwards.

“Even better. We’ll have the city to ourselves.” He could get behind that. Peter nodded in approval.

“Can I get changed first? I don’t feel like walking ‘round town in a suit.” He winced, vaguely gesturing at himself. In fact, Petr would rather walk around in his Spider-Man suit, which was made to measure, than this thing he rented for the day. “Meet here in ten?”

“Last one’s a loser,” Elle shouted before dashing off, holding up her formal dress to allow her to run across the lawn like the devil was chasing her, hair slipping out of her neat hairdo.

Oh, she was so going to lose. They had been hanging out since that first day, seven months ago. He was allowed to wipe the floor with her ass now, the awkward adjustment period after making a friend where you wonder if you can do this or that without upsetting them was over.

Four minutes later, Peter was standing in the exact same spot, wearing sneakers, jeans and a sweatshirt, and he was delighted to see Elle run towards him, laughing and cursing because she was the loser, and wearing more or less the same outfit.

“And look who’s here last - again,” he teased her as soon as she was within earshot. “You need to stop challenging me and accept defeat.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she replied, leaning on his shoulder to catch her breath. “Damn, I need to get in better shape. Or quit snacks, I don’t know which is worse.”

Peter chuckled and put his hands in his pockets. They hopped on the first bus, which was uncharacteristically empty, they even found two available seats. People liked to spend this holiday with their family, it was no wonder the streets were near deserted. The shops were closed, less buses circulated, the parks were empty. No cars driving around. It was peaceful.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, taking this opportunity to visit the usually crowded places and enjoy the view. The closer they got to the water, the windier it became, and Elle pulled up her hood to stop her hair from flying around her face.

“Are you cold?” Peter asked, watching her square her shoulders and also put her hands in her front pocket.

“A little,” she admitted. “But it’s fine.”

Searching for something to do that wouldn’t be out there in the cold wind, Elle’s eyes eventually landed on a crepes vendor who was open down the street. They could walk in the narrow back streets to shield themselves for the wind from there.

“C’mon, I’ll buy you a crepe and we can visit the old town,” she told him, looping her arm around his elbow and pulling him forward.

“What about quitting snacks?” he teased her, a wicked grin on his face.

“It’s only a real diet if it starts the next day,” she replied, and he had to admit that was a pretty good comeback, she still had him beat in that area. “But for the sake of my credibility, we’ll share one. What flavor do you want?”

They stopped in their tracks by the shop’s window, squinting to see the menu.

“I don’t know, you choose,” Peter said with a shrug.

Elle smirked and turned towards him, a twisted little grin on her face as she gave him a once over.

“You look like a vanilla guy,” she chuckled, making Peter blush instantly.

He wasn’t the most perceptive guy, but he could tell an innuendo when he heard one, and her tone didn’t allow for much doubt.

“I- I’m not- I mean, I like- but I’m not-“ he stuttered out, the shade of red of his face deepening with each word tumbling out of his mouth. “Vanilla’s fine,” he finally said, if only to put an end to his misery.

“I was kidding,” she assured him, seeing his state of distress. “Though there’s nothing wrong with that.”

With a shrug, Elle walked inside and ordered her crepe, while Peter waited outside, letting the cold wind cool down his face. She was only messing with him. It was merely payback for his teasing her earlier.

She came back with a vanilla sugar crepe and let him have the first bite.

“So, since it’s commemoration day and all, I thought I’d ask”, she started, licking her fingers clean. “What happened to you?”

Peter forced down an awkward chuckle at this, wondering how to answer that as truthfully as possible without full-on telling her he was trying to save the world on another planet called Titan and miserably failed, which led to him and half of humanity during to ash.

“I was one of the Vanished, so… not much happened,” he tried to say it as offhandedly as possible, not letting his grief show through.

“What was it like?” Elle wondered out loud, looking up at him. “I mean, if it’s not-“

“’s okay.” Peter shrugged. “I take it you were among the lucky ones who inherited the earth after the Snap?”

“Yeah…” Elle lowered her head, as if thinking back on something. “It’s just that most people never even mention it. It’s become taboo and-“

“You really don’t need to explain,” Peter cut her off. “I get it. But it would be hard to describe. I was just there, then I wasn’t. And the next second, I was back. It felt like waking up from a nap, and I don’t remember anything of the five years that had gone by when I came back. It must have been harder for the people who stayed.”

Elle stopped walking and Peter froze when she suddenly wasn’t by his side anymore.

“You know, you’re the first person to tell me that,” she said, looking pained. “I have a baby sister. She was four when the vanished, and my parents took it very hard, it was horrible at home. We had all aged when she re-appeared, and while we were all over the moon to have her again, it was never the same as before. I don’t have a relationship with her because she’s so much younger than me now. My parents didn’t think they would get to raise her again, they’d thrown all her stuff away because it hurt to have it home, and-“ she stopped, unable to continue.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this,” Peter said with a gravity she had never seen on him.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” She pushed back on hood and crossed her arms over her chest. Peter was afraid she would cry but she seemed to pull herself together and decide to move on to a lighter topic. “I shouldn’t cry about this, today is for celebrating the fact that you came back, not for throwing a pity party.”

“That’s true. Just imagine what your life would be if I hadn’t returned,” Peter joked in an attempt to make her smile return. It worked, to his utmost relief. “Awful.”

“I’d be hanging out with the Ryans instead,” she said with a shudder.

It had turned out, to their absolute bafflement, that Blond Jock and Red-head were both called Ryan. Thus becoming “The Ryans” when they started dating. Elle had made several crude jokes about the Ryans screaming their own name during sex, and Peter had blushed and laughed along to hide his embarrassment. She really had a talent for making him lose his composure.

“So really, you should be celebrating me today,” Peter argued.

They had resumed their walk and were now crossing an almost empty square lined with cute little shops – all closed.

“I shared my crepe with you, Vanilla Boy!” She rolled her eyes. “Hey, wait a second!” Elle stopped again, one hand on Peter’s shoulder to prevent him from walking away. “That means I was born five years after you, even though we’re the same age!”

“Solid deduction,” Peter agreed with a condescending nod, earning a swat on the shoulder. “I mean, yeah, what’s your point?”

“When’s your birthday?” she asked.

Peter raised a brow.

“June 1st,” he said, not seeing where this was going. Elle broke into a smile. A Cheshire Cat, ear-to-ear kind of smile that made Peter shudder. “What is it? I feel like I just said something I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m older than you,” she beamed.

“What? No- what?”

“My birthday is May 30th, which means I’m two days older than you.”

“That is- that’s not-“ Peter sucked in a breath, holding a finger up but radiating no authority whatsoever. “That’s wrong,” he finished, in a rather anti-climactic fashion.

“It’s quite simple math, really, I’m sure even you in applied physics know that,” Elle snickered, making Peter squint his eyes at her.

“Technically, I-“

“No technicalities, just plain old math,” she cut him off, enjoying herself very much. “Do not contradict your elders, Vanilla Boy.”

“Stop calling me that,” he grumbled, pouting.

“Why?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why not? It suits you,” Elle challenged him, stepping forward, chin up.

“I’m not vanilla.”

How did he say that without liquefying on the pavement? He would think about that later. But he sure felt his cheeks burn up when Elle closed the remaining distance between them until there was but an inch separating their faces and she whispered, “Prove it.”

If Peter was half as brave as he ought to be as an Avenger, he would have done it. He would have kissed her, like he had wanted to do for months now. But he couldn’t. His body refused to move, and it was like high school all over again, when he couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to the girl he liked. Elle was smirking, waiting for him to make a move, but he simply couldn’t.

Peter closed his eyes and stepped back, sighing to himself, admitting defeat. Elle smiled wider.

“I knew it.” Before Peter had a chance to let her know it wasn’t very tasteful to boast about this, she slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled him back to her. He closed his eyes again when their lips met, and she kissed him.

Not long enough, though.

“That’s okay, you’re my Vanilla Boy,” she told him before pulling back and smiling up at him.

He must have looked awfully shocked because her smile dropped right away, and she let him go.

“I- I’m sorry, did I misread the situation?” she stuttered out, losing her self-confidence now that the deed was done. At least, it comforted him to know she was a little nervous too. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I don’t kno-“

This time around, Peter was the one doing to startling and cradled her face between his hands to kiss her once more, muffling her rambling. Elle gave in to the embrace and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing back. They didn’t break away so soon this time.

“You didn’t misread anything, you’re very good at reading situations,” Peter assured her, making them both giggle like fools.

At least, there were no witnesses to this awkward display of affection. The wind had picked up and the people who were outside had gone home a while ago. It looked like it was going to rain anytime now.

Peter interlaced their fingers and slipped their joined hands into the front pocket of his sweater, and together, they walked back to his place, to get a roof over their head before it started pouring on them.

Elle woke up with a start at her desk. Shit, it was the third time she snoozed on her textbook. She wasn’t even done with today's reading, but she was tired and couldn’t seem to focus. Senior year required much more reading than she was prepared for, but freshers was long behind her.

Truth was, Peter should have been back already. It was nearly half past 10pm. Not very late for a college student, but later than normal for Peter; he always made sure not to stay out too late when he was on a beat. He knew Elle worried if he stayed out too long after dark and it was late November. It became dark around five, he had had enough time to scout the neighborhood, what was he doing?

Sitting at the desk in sweatpants and a vintage original Jurassic Park t-shirt, Elle stretched and yawned, as if to get the tired out. She liked to dress down when she studied, and she loved that shirt. She had bought it at an auction for more money than she would ever care to admit - Peter had found out but was sworn to secrecy before Ned could tease the answer out of him. The memory made her laugh, and she stood up to get herself a snack.

She was halfway done with preparing her PB&J sandwich when the sound of broken glass caught her attention. Elle’s head jerked up and she dropped her snack, running to the living room. She always left a window unlocked for Peter to use when he came back from a mission and couldn’t use the front door. It was too risky to walk through the front door where the night manager sat at his desk.

Shards of glass from a vase littered the floor and the window was wide open, a dark silhouette standing before it.

“Peter,” Elle breathed out, bringing a hand to her mouth and staring in horror.

She lunged forward just as he did the same and they crashed into each other, holding on for dear life. Nights such as this one occurred on rare but dreaded occasions. He wore his sweats, which wasn’t a good sign. He always carried those around to wear over his suit in case he needed to stay incognito and sneak back home.

The relief was so great that tears threatened to spill over, but Elle swallowed them back and breathed in his scent instead, telling herself over and over again that everything was fine, Peter was fine. Though she way he leaned into her was worrying, she felt she carried all his weight and he would have collapsed on the floor if she hadn’t been there to catch him.

Elle pulled down Peter’s hood to reveal his battered face as soon as he released her from his embrace. His tousled hair was matted in blood, sticking to his head.

“You should see the other guys,” Peter tried to joke before Elle could ask what on earth happened.

Still repressing her tears – and now a slight smile - Elle pulled him back to her and threw her arms around his neck. The movement caused Peter to grunt slightly and cough a little but he returned the hug without a word, nuzzling Elle’s neck and closing his eyes in delight.

This mission had been worse than expected, but he always felt like everything was alright when he held Elle in his arms like now. He couldn’t afford to lose a fight or be killed, ever, because she was waiting for him. If one day he didn’t return, he knew for a fact that she would leave that window unlocked for the years to come, hoping against hope that he would turn up again.

They have been together for little less than four years now, and Elle had moved in with Peter last year. Of course, she knew about his alter ego long before taking that step – she guessed actually, much like MJ had back in High School. Except that, in retrospect, Peter realized he wasn’t the most discreet back then, so perhaps he had laid out the ground for MJ to find out. But he couldn’t take credit away from Elle, because he had taken every precaution to make sure she wouldn’t be dragged into his superhero problems.

Turns out, she wanted to be a part of it. When he decided to tell her, it was because he couldn’t bear the thought of keeping the truth from her anymore – if he couldn’t trust the girl he loved to keep his secret, than what was the point of this relationship? She had smiled and said she was glad he had finally told her. For days Peter had racked his brain to try and find what gave him away, but he never found out, and she never told him. She said it was her secret, but not to worry, that no one else but her would find out.

Still, back then, she couldn’t have measured what it entailed to be in a relationship with Spider-Man, the constant worry, the anguish, the violence. Every day, she feared he might not come back, and every day, Peter feared she might leave.

“You need to sit down,” she said, finally letting go, sniffling but holding back the treacherous tears. “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

Elle was about to go to the bathroom when Peter caught her wrist, silently asking her to stay with him for now. Together, they slowly walked to the couch and Peter dropped there with a pained groan, arching his back and hissing between his clenched teeth.

“What can I do?” Elle urged him, feeling powerless.

Pushing her hair back, she knelt down in front of him, holding his hands in hers. There was no worse feeling than seeing Peter hurt and not being able to do anything about it. What good was a degree in biotechnology? She should have been a nurse!

“I’ll be fine, I’ll- I’ll heal,” he assured her, sighing once the pain subdued and he was able to lean into the back of the couch without feeling as though a thousand needles pierced his spine.

Elle gave him a once over to check for any severe wound that he would try and hide from her to spare her feelings. She wasn’t that soft, she could handle whatever happened, if only he allowed her to help. He was covered in bruises, his left eye was black already; she also spotted several cuts on his cheeks; his knuckles were raw, and she would bet his suit was torn in places under his black sweats. Whenever he coughed, he held his ribs, hissing, and she guessed some were broken.

Just then, his phone buzzed, and he took it out of his pocket, checking the caller ID and dropping it face down on the couch. Elle dived on the phone like a hawk to see who it was, and Peter began to cough again, blood staining his lips. If Elle didn't know he healed ten times faster than any normal human being, she would be sick with worry. While it hurt to see him like this, she knew what she had signed up for when she started a life with Peter Parker. It was part of the job to come back in rough shape sometimes, and there was very little she could do about it - except make things easier whenever possible.

“I can't- I can't...” Peter rasped, shaking his eyes as he looked at his screen which had lit up with a picture of Aunt May. Elle looked at it too, knowing it was up to her to deal with this.

“Hi, May. This is Elle.” She pressed the speaker button and laid the phone on the couch, so Peter could hear everything.

“Oh, hi Elle, I didn't expect to hear you. It's been a while, how are things?”

“Everything is going well, I'm not complaining,” she answered, using her small talk voice.

“Is Peter with you? I haven't heard from him in a week, I thought I'd get a hold of him before going to bed.”

Elle looked at Peter on the couch, looking the worse for wear, like he had been punched through an entire building and came out on the other side. Which was probably what really happened, it wouldn’t be the first time anyway. She would get the details later.

“He just came back from a mission,” she told May.

She didn't like lying to her, she was family. Peter looked alarmed. He didn't want to worry May, he didn't want her to freak out even if she had every right to. Elle could get behind that. His life wasn't in any danger and she was the one who collected the pieces now. Peter wasn't a teenager anymore and Aunt May forgot that sometimes.

“Is he alright?” There was the concern in her voice. Elle had put her on speaker so Peter couldn't do anything but stare wide eyed at his girlfriend, silently shaking his head.

“He's fine, no need to worry. He's just really tired and fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.” She hated that the lie came out so easily, but it was for the best. Like said before, Peter was in no direct danger, his body was healing so fast she could already swear some cuts disappeared. It didn't make it any easier to see him in such a state. “I'll let him know you checked in, and make sure to tell him to call you tomorrow.”

Aunt May chatted a bit longer before bidding Elle good night and hanging up, making it harder to keep up the appearance that everything was peachy. The moment Elle ended the call, she sighed and slouched over Peter’s knees.

“Thank you. I'm sorry you have to do that.”

He doesn't try to explain or justify himself. Elle already knew that he didn’t ask her to lie for the sake of it, or because he wanted to hide what he did from his last living family member. He did what he always did: he protected them. And if by telling white lies to May to help her sleep better at night Elle could participate in this, then so be it.

“I’m sorry too,” she said, her eyes glowing with a mix sadness and overwhelming relief. One single tear rolled down her cheek. “C’mon now.” She wiped it away with the palm of her hand. “We need to get you out of this suit and into the shower. You know the rule: no-“

“-bleeding in our bed,” Peter finished, smiling weakly. “Yes, I know. Give me a hand.”

Getting him to stand up was an ordeal in itself, but removing two layers of clothes, one of which was a super suit that Elle still didn’t know how to work, and waddling towards the bathroom without hitting any furniture proved to be near impossible. They had been there before, and it usually ended up in a lot of cussing and laughing, quickly followed by grunts of pain because it hurt to laugh.

In removing the ripped suit, Elle bared Peter’s back and stared blankly at the many scars littering his body. There were white and completely healed scars under the new ones. The most worrying was the long gash running from his shoulder down to the middle of his back, it still oozed blood and looked deep enough to require assistance in healing.

Elle undressed and threw her clothes in a corner to shower with Peter who could barely stand alone now that the adrenalin from the fight had worn off and made way to utter exhaustion and numbness. It was better than hurting all over, Elle supposed. She did most of the work because Peter had to grip the edge of the shower wall to stay standing.

“Talk to me,” she asked him while gently rubbing his back, taking extra care not to go anywhere near his open wound with the soap or the shower head. “What happened out there? Who did this to you?”

Peter wanted to tell her that he did this to himself, no one forced him to play superhero, he was responsible for his own life choices. But it wasn’t what Elle wanted to hear.

“There were more of them than I expected,” he simply told her. “I should have surveyed the place before going in, they were obviously prepared for my coming.”

Elle nodded even if Peter couldn’t see her. She had learnt not to give him pointless words of reassurance such as “it wasn’t your fault” and “there was nothing you could do”.

“People are used to your presence now, they know Spider-Man has relocated to California, and no longer operates in New York City.”

“And unlike New York, there’s only one superhero here, and that’s me,” he sighed, leaning his head back so Elle could wash his hair.

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over this! You said I should see the other guys, that means you got them, right?” she asked, prompting him to smile, even just a little. “You defeated the bad guys, and you came back to me. That’s all that matters.”

“I guess you’re right,” he whispered to himself, knowing there was no winning an argument against Elle regarding this matter. “Next time, I-“ he hissed and bit down on his lip when soap trickled in his back wound.

“This one is not pretty, it needs stitches,” Elle informed him with a wince, knowing how much he hated being stitched up.

They finished up and got out of the shower. The warm water had done its job: it had washed away the blood and eased the tension in Peter’s aching muscles. He could walk alone, though he remained unsteady on his feet. Elle put on her robe and Pete wrapped a towel around his middle before sitting down on the stool next to the shower. While he rubbed a towel on his head to absorb the excess water, Elle prepared the thread and needle, sterilizing it before coming to stand behind her very much shaking boyfriend.

“I apologize in advance,” she said before leaning over and getting to work.

She truly hated doing that, but she had learned to be good at it. From the corner of her eye, she saw his fists tightening and his jaw clenching when the needle came in contact with his flesh, but she had to keep going.

“Almost done,” Elle said, feeling how tense Peter was under her touch, grounding his teeth to avoid groaning in pain and worrying her more than she already was. “Here, all good.” His shoulders slumped as soon as the words left her mouth.

Elle cut off the thread and cleaned up the trickles of blood running down his back, then she also cleaned the other, minor cuts, and went back to the kitchen to grab the ice pack from the fridge to apply on his broken ribs.

“Hold it in place as long as you need,” she said, knowing very little about what to do in case of broken ribs but trusting the cold would reduce the pain. “Can you stand up?”

Her fingers brushed against his naked shoulder and it broke her heart when he looked up with a crooking smirk, eyes blood shot and bruised. He nodded, grabbing her hand in his to give it a reassuring squeeze and placing a kiss on the back of it.

“I’ll get dressed and be right over,” he told her, not yet knowing if he had the strength to do any of this.

Summoning all of his remaining forces, he got up on his feet without toppling over. It seemed to ease her mind a little bit because she smiled for real this time and when Peter tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek, she leaned into his touch and blushed slightly. Elle was the only girl Peter ever managed to make blush, and he liked that.

“You dumbass,” she told him in a chuckle. “Any gray hair I might have is on you, you know that?”

“Some people bleach their hair to get that color,” he pointed out, making her laugh again and ignoring the throbbing pain in his side as he held the ice pack more firmly to his ribs.

Elle felt better but was aware that he pushed through the pain for her sake, so she cut short their exchange to get dressed again before going to the kitchen and preparing two cups of tea. Peter liked his tea a certain way, and she alone had mastered it. She took out their respective favorite mugs while the water boiled and added sugar to their preference, then cut a slice a lemon to put in Peter’s.

Soon, she heard the kitchen stool creak against the wooden floor, and she poured the water, then carried their mugs over to the table. He looked more human now that he was clean and wearing his pajamas, almost like nothing happened at all – if it weren’t for the bruises, sore and sole reminder of his extra-curricular activities.

“Who was it tonight?”

“A local gang that was responsible for a good portion of the drugs circulating on the territory. It was delivery night tonight, so I thought I’d make two birds one stone and get both the supplier and the reseller, but like I said, I severely underestimated their manpower.”

“It was a good idea, but hard to pull off when you’re alone,” Elle agreed. “It’d be different if you had a partner, someone to count on out there.”

“But I have a partner,” Peter countered, shooting her a charming grin and nudging her in the shoulder. Elle tried not to smile but it was a losing battle. “I can count on you.”

“But not when you go on a mission. You need someone to have your back on the field,” she replied, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of her tea. Elle fidgeted with the handle of her mug, anxiously thinking about what would happen if one day, Peter did not come back. “If I could, I would come with.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. If I knew I could help one way or another, I would come with you. I’d be your Robin,” she laughed. “We’re only talking, of course. I don’t have powers and I would be a burden and a distraction if I followed you on your missions.”

Peter’s smile vanished as he turned towards Elle, a serious expression twisting his otherwise relaxed features.

“You sound like you put an awful lot of time into that thought,” he pointed out.

“I have. I wish I could do more than just patch you up after the work’s been done.” She let go of her mug and put her hands in her lap to stop fidgeting.

What to say to that? Peter understood the feeling but he couldn’t bear the thought of Elle standing between him and a bullet. Her life could never be in danger because of him, that’s where he drew the line. Her safety was everything. His mouth went dry.

“I didn’t know my double life took such a toll on you,” he croaked out, biting the inside of his cheeks and hollowing them out as he thought about what she said. “I know it’s not easy. If it ever becomes too much…”

“I forbid you to finish that sentence,” Elle cut him off before he said the damn words.

He had told her already, time and time again, that she was free to walk out of his life if she felt too unsafe or unhappy. A conversation that no people their age should have, in Peter’s opinion, but they had had it anyway, because he wasn’t any people of his age, he was Spider-Man.

“The option is there,” he still said, staring right into her clouded eyes.

They were deep and full of boundless affection that he would like to drown in, but he couldn’t turn his back on the people who needed Spider-Man. Peter Parker might belong to Elle, but Spider-Man belonged to the people.

“I never considered it an option, Peter. Do you really think I would leave you when you need me the most? Do you think so little of me?” It was difficult not to cry at this point, but perhaps it was what Elle needed: to let it all out of her system.

“Of course not,” Peter sighed, sliding off his stool to stand behind her, encircling her with his arms and letting the ice pack hit the floor. Elle felt a cold spot on her back, where Peter pressed his cold side. She held on to his arm around her middle.

“Then don’t ask me to quit you again,” she demanded, sounding determined. “I’m here by my own volition, because I want to be with you. I love you, Peter, I love you.”

“I know, I know you do,” he whispered in her ear, his face buried in her neck while he rocked them gently. Elle shook slightly against him, as though she were repressing sobs. “I only suggested it because I love you too. Too much to let you be miserable because I’m such a dumb superhero who half-asses his survey jobs.”

This time he could tell she was shaking from laughter and he felt better knowing she wasn’t too mad at him. Trust him to mess up a mission and then upset his girlfriend in the same evening.

“I didn’t mean to start whining, sorry,” Elle apologized, dismissing her behavior and worry and pulling herself together.

“Don’t say that,” Peter scolded her, turning her around on the rotating chair to look at her. “Whatever’s on your mind, I want to hear about it. Even if it’s about how much of an idiot boyfriend I am. You’re right, I know you worry about me, and it doesn’t help that I come home looking like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

“You really do,” she felt the need to say, much to Peter’s bafflement. He gaped at her, then shook his head, though he couldn’t hide the slight smirk on his face.

“Right. But what I’m trying to say is that I understand. I’d want to do more if we traded roles. In fact, I’d be much worse! If I were you, I’d have tried and followed you already and butted in at the worst possible time during a fight. That’s just the kind of timing and luck that I have!” he rambled, making big hand gestures that made Elle smile and reach out for his face.

“Focus, Peter.”

“Yes, right! Where was I? You definitely can’t come with me out there, it’s too dangerous, and I’d rather get beat up every day than see you in harm’s way. But you’re the smartest out of the two of us- don’t interrupt,” he quickly added when Elle was about to argue. “Would it help if you could participate more? I’ve always kept to myself because I thought it would make you worry too much if you knew what I was up against, but maybe… maybe it’s the contrary.”

“Maybe, yeah,” Elle repeated softly, watching Peter’s agitated state, expecting him to drop any moment, out of exhaustion. “I won’t be your Robin, then.”

“No, you’ll be my Q.”

Elle lifted a skeptical eyebrow.

“Because you’re James Bond, huh,” she hummed, obviously not convinced.

Peter slapped a hand over his chest.

“You wound me,” he said dramatically. “Do I not look like the next James Bond?” he asked in a funny English accent, pretending to hold up a gun.

“This is a trick question, joker.” Elle shook her head, looking away from him before she burst in laughter. “All jokes aside, I would like that very much. Maybe if you run your plans by me, you won’t forget to make sure you’re not heading towards an army of gang members waiting for you to show up.”

“Too soon, Elle, way too soon,” Peter whined, making her laugh. “So, what do you say? You want the job?”

“Where do I sign?” Elle asked.

Peter didn’t say anything, but his smug smile said it all. Then, he pointed at his lips. Without a word, Elle slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled him towards her lips, being very careful not to hurt him in the process, then sealed the deal with a kiss.

“Great. Now I’ll head to bed, because I’m this close to sleeping on the kitchen floor,” Peter kindly informed Elle, already dragging her behind him. “Let’s call it a day.”

She could tell he felt better already; there was little to no reason to worry herself sick over his well-being, but she couldn’t help herself. When she saw him hurt, her heart constricted in the most unpleasant way, and she wanted to rip apart those who did this to her man.

“We’ll have to discuss the specifics of my new job in the morning. Also, you should know that if I ever meet a gang member, I will throw hands with him for laying a hand on you,” she giggled behind him, following Peter to their bedroom.

When Peter’s tired body hit the mattress, he let out a long groan of delight. He had been standing for way too long, it was a miracle he hadn’t simply collapsed the moment he came back. What he wouldn’t do for his lovely girlfriend.

She usually slept on the left side of the bed, but he felt the bed dip on his right. He knew she didn’t like to sleep window-side because of the draft, but he didn’t say anything. She was doing this because of his ribs, he knew it, she didn’t want to accidentally hit him there.

He didn’t mind the pain much, it was subsiding already, and he would rather hold Elle in his arms a bit longer than sleep right away. She guessed as much and scooted over to join him in the middle of the bed, huddling against his body in the dark. They both sighed in content, finally letting go of the day’s tension and enjoying being in each other’s presence.

Peter slipped a hand under Elle and rested his hand in the small of her back, while the other gently played with her hair. Her open palm rested on his chest, as if it soothed her to feel his heartbeat – and maybe it did, how would he know? He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and let his fingertips trail up and down her spine.

“Hey Vanilla boy, do you wanna know how I figured out you were Spider-Man?” Elle whispered in the dark.

Peter shot up and turned on the lamp on the bedside table.

“Yes, please. I want to know so bad,” he told her, point-blank. To be fair, he probably didn't sleep for a week straight after he realized she had known for a while.

“What do I get in exchange?” she bargained, leaning on her elbow and raising a brow at him.

Peter clicked his tongue inside his cheek and narrowed his eyes.

“My eternal love and gratitude?” he offered, knowing it wouldn't be enough but trying anyway.

“I already have that.” Her smirk widened. “Bid higher.”

“I'll let you try on my suit.” That would surely work, he had seen her eyeing it more than once. Then again, it could simply be a kink of hers, to see him in his suit.

“It's way too big for me,” she countered.

“Not this one. The one Mr.Stark made with the nanotechnology.” It was his turn to smirk, he knew he had her. If appealing to her good heart didn't work, he knew the scientist couldn't refuse that. “It'll adapt to your body,” he added, for good measure.

Elle sucked in her cheeks and pretended to think about it for another two seconds before holding out her hand for him to shake it and seal the deal.

“Now tell me how you guessed. You know I won't be able to fall asleep if you don't spit it out, and I really need the rest,” he urged her, having no shame to guilt-trip his own girlfriend into spilling the beans.

“You talk in your sleep,” she said with a shrug. She fell back on the pillow and closed her eyes, clearly about to replay the whole scene for him, free of charge. “Elle- Elle...” she began to mumble, pretending to sleep-talk. “I wanna- wanna... tell ya somethin'... Elle.” Peter also dropped on his pillow, throwing an arm over his eyes so he wouldn't have to see this. “'m Spider-Man, Elle. 'm Spider-Man.”

She ended up bursting in laughter, much to Peter's despair.

“And you just took my word for it?” He couldn't believe that was how she found out. He had thought he had somehow forgotten something, that he had left clues. But no! He had flat out told her himself. In his sleep. Goddammit.

“Not really, I thought you were dreaming at first,” she admitted, rolling on her side to cuddle him again and forcing him to remove his arm so she could look at him. “But I didn't forget, and you can understand my surprise when I realized it added up. You kept disappearing, you're oddly fast and agile, you moved here at the same time Spider-Man left New York, and coming back with bruises that you blamed on your joining a boxing club... You don't have the built of a boxer, Peter, that didn't make any sense!”

“Ah, I should have known not to lie about this,” Peter grumbled. “Aunt May was right.”

“What about?”

“You can't hide anything from a woman.”

“C'mon now,” Elle cooed, pushing back Peter's wet strands of hair that fell into his eyes. “We give back more than we get.”

It was meant to be light teasing, but Peter smiled back at her softly, a dreamy glow in his eyes.

“You know, you might think you don’t do much right now, but you’re wrong. Thank you for everything.”

Elle wriggled slightly against him.

“It's nothing,” she muttered against his neck, eyes open now.

“It's not nothing. I don't know what I would do without you.”

“C'mon now.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze. She could see his blue eyes, even in the dark room only lit by the moon. “I'm sure it isn't that hard to find someone who can stitch a wound.”

“It's not about stitching my wounds, Elle, but about everything else. It's about waiting for me without knowing when or if I'll come back. About reassuring May even if you have to lie. About preparing tea just the way I like and sleeping on the window side even if you don't like it and putting up with my double life all the time.”

A silence followed, and he wondered if he should have kept quiet, but then Elle spoke up.

“It's all or nothing, Peter. I don't want just one half of you, I want every aspect of Peter Parker, even if some of them come with their drawbacks. You can’t expect me to only love a part of you.”

Now he was the one who didn’t know what to say. What answer did he expect? Not this one, that much was clear. It occurred to him that he frequently forgot that Elle really did love him whole heartedly; or rather, he persuaded himself that no one could love him this much. But maybe – just maybe – he could dare to hope that he found the one person who would stick by his side forever.

“No, I really can’t,” he said with a goofy smile.

Peter leaned in once more, pressing his lips against Elle’s for a soft, hungry kiss. They didn’t break it before being out of breath. Then Peter placed a quick kiss to her forehead and bid her goodnight, still holding her tight – and God be witness, he would never let her go.

Reblog to save a writer!

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hell-heron · 5 years ago

Note

Hey bb 💙 talk about Worthless to Two for the meme?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22900666

There's... so much to unpack about that one. On one hand it was a total flop (understandably no one wants to read 12k of angsty and kinda moralistic bullshit) and I don't like... particularly like it? Like I sometimes do narcissism-rereads of my stuff but this one just doesn't inspire it, just didn't come out well I think. But on the other idk I'm really proud of trying at least. It was an important to me theme and I was really happy to manage to write a bit of R&J fluff.

The biggest challenge was to make Mercutio and Benvolio have psychological sense as characters despite what they do being well... so out of character. It made me wonder several times how people who actually write the death faking trope in earnest manage to do it keeping a straight face lol. It's my first time properly writing Mercutio's POV too and I especially loved his parts. I generally headcanon him with some poly tendencies and I really love the idea of him being in love with Tybalt, Benvolio and Romeo all at once and seriously distressed by having to choose when all of them represent different parts of him. And his relationship to Tybalt really is only mildly the most dysfunctional one... I really want to elaborate on that when I can write again agh.

I also had... big ideas of the Montacrew dysfunction that idk how well translated on paper. They really love each other a lot, but they're possessive of each other too, so when there are moments such as this one where one of them (here Romeo) wants something different from life they're really quick to lash out/feel like the one doesn't love the other two anymore. They have a lot of On Dit-like moments is what I'm saying. And they're all three prone to feeling third-wheel and misunderstood, though it's harder on Romeo because he's younger and naturally very sensitive (and also he has picked up on the romance between the other two).

So... you really should have given me a section lmao this is long as shit, some random things i wanted to say are

- At the scene where Mercutio is doing Romeo's make up and they have the Charged conversation they're going in drag as Greek goddesses. Romeo is Persephone, Benvolio is Athena (which makes it really ironic he doesn't know her Origin Story lol I didn't even do it on purpose since that was one of the last scenes i wrote. But since this was already a spitefic i couldn't much resist the spite at the Socially Anxious Bookworm characterization rip) Mercutio is Iris, so all in rainbow veils like a bad pride parade float.

- I really enjoyed Romeo's dream/flashback sequence bc i just adore childhood flashbacks and... idk I hope I managed to convey what it means re: Juliet. He does love her and she's his soulmate, tho he's preoccupied with something else in that scene. But he's reacting really badly to their Circumstances and the fact their love has become dark and tormented by external circumstances when it is in it's essence innocent and easy and honestly the most functional relationship here. So his subconscious tries to put her in a context of childhood innocence, like the games he used to play with Benvolio and Mercutio, even knowing she would never be allowed to be part of that, but he also fears that he was the one to soil her innocence and that's what leads to the darker dreams like her buried in the clothes of a little girl or her mixing the poison to kill him etc. Also I really made it obvious he used to have a crush on Mercutio as a child woah.

- I agonized about what should be written on Benvolio and Mercutio's "wedding ring" for way too long Jesus Christ. But Catullus always has an answer

- I completely forgot to elaborate on that line Benvolio has about how Romeo has seen Mercutio's bruises and would understand why he would want to leave Verona etc. That can be taken as either the fact obvious fear that someone like Mercutio who can't shut up wouldnt have a long life somewhere where people are so prickly and he's always getting into fights, or that he was abused for being such a faulty heir or both, as you wish. It isnt really Relevant but i also assumed 12 to be the age where Benvolio lost his parents, same as Patience perforce, so when they have that conversation at the beginning it's mostly him being like "bold of you to assume I need actual traumatic events for these anxiety levels"

- I definitely meant to have some level of my "Mercutio resents Valentine but also really misses him and jokes a lot about Romeo being his replacement little brother in a very weird for everyone way" but it didn't fit so well so it's like. Vaguely implied? but it's definitely part of Romeo's insecutities

I think the hardest part was explaining how they can fake their deaths without body (how THE HELL do people write this trope with a straight face i-)

- I'm not sure how well I wrote Juliet but i feel like I'm the one person who will so there, I made my attempt out of, guess what, spite. I'm sorry what background/development I gave her was so sad, but I felt like it's a good way to justify why she finds it so easy to reationalize Tybalt's death, her detachment from her family and the weird conflict around genuine feeling/posturing that's at the core of her character. This is even less Relevant but... well, spite

- I might write a little spin off about that moment in Mercutio's dream where he and Romeo almost risked getting together, if I ever write the Montacrew OT3 Good Ending

- Am I like... seing things or does Mercutio have a weird fascination with bugs based on like the Queen Mab speech and the metaphors he tends to use? Maybe i need to stop overanalyzing things

- Another fic, another failure to make Capulets and Montagues equally shitty parents. But at least I think I managed to show the Montagues in general are equally violent here?

- I'd apologize to the Gotham writers for the weird use of this riddle and the plagiarism of that scene, but I think they have more to apologize to me

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lwilddiamonddogl · 6 years ago

Text

Poetic Romance

Paring: Analogical (Logan x anxiety)

Summery: Logan reads a poem Virgil has written without his permission, romance ensues.

Warnings: Virgil says “Fuck” once and i used the word bastard.

This is the first fan fiction ive ever written, its kinda shit but oh well. Hope you enjoy anyways

Virgil was the quietest one of all the other sides, preferring to sit and listen rather than contribute to the conversations. Even if he wished to voice his opinions, Virgil had trouble formulating his thoughts into words without becoming tongue tied. While he may have had troubles speaking to the others, his poetry said it all for him. Each word written in Anx’s neat scrawl held a passion stronger than Romans passion for Disney.

No one in the mind palace new about Virgil's talents, and he planned on it staying that way. However, the universe seemed to have entirely different plans for him.

Virgil was secretive about his notebooks entirely, opting to stay in his room to write, seeing as the other sides rarely ventured into his dark quarters. He assumed this was due to them fearing what they would find rather than respecting privacy, but he was grateful either way.

Each time Virgil was done pouring his heart onto the pristine pages of one of his many note books (most of them filled at this point,) he would store them Underneath his bed. Even if someone was to enter his room, why would they head for the underside of is bed?

After another night of endlessly scrolling through Tumblr and neglecting his urge to sleep, Anx stumbled from his room to the bathroom just across the hall to attempt to wake himself up with a cool shower. Unknowingly to him, a dilemma was happening a few doors down.

Roman frantically tore apart his room in an attempt to find his lost sash, his favorite one at that. The red, silky, garment was nowhere to be found and Roman was on the verge of panicking.

“Panicking will do you no good, Roman. Think rationally and attempt to retrace as to where you last had it.” Logan said, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and a bored expression resting upon his pale features. Roman continued to dig through his elegant white and gold wardrobe with motivation when a thought passed through his distressed mind, stopping him in his tracks.

“Logan, didn't you do laundry just this Wednesday?” Roman inquired, giving Logan a look of hope.

“Why yes i did but i do not see what this has to d-”

“Great!” Roman interrupted to Logans annoyance. “If you could, please go to Virgil's room and search for it? Our clothing gets mixed up more often than you'd think.” Roman casted a pleading look at Logan. Typically, Logan would make princey do these mundane things by himself but he was rather sick of sir sing-a-lot making such a cacophony while Logan was attempting to read.

With a huff, Logan walked his way down the hall and to Virgil's room, Roman yelling a thank you as he left. To Logan's surprise, Anx’s door was wide open, the room empty. So Logic let himself in, one goal in mind: Find the dramatic bastards sash.

Logan scanned the room, eyes falling onto the sash laying across Virgil's bedside table, sticking out among the variations of purple, grey and black that decorated Virgil's living space. As Logan turned to leave, he noticed a hard cover, black notebook open atop Virgil's unmade bed.

Curiosity got the best of Logan as he lowered himself down on the edge of the bed, poster straight as per usual. Picking up the notebook he began to read the open, most recent page. If Virgil was to leave this open on his bed, Logan thought to himself he wouldn't mind if i were to read it, one page won't hurt. Logan's eyes began to scan the paper, absorbing and decoding every word and metaphor as he went.

His face slowly turned into a shade of crimson as he finished the page, a piece of himself hoping it was meant for him. He shook off the thought, he new better than to think such falsehoods. Beginning to pull himself up from Virgil's bed, he stopped in his tracks when he noticed a petrified figure in the doorway.

“What the Fuck are you doing in my room?!” Virgil practically screamed, quickly making his way over to his bed and snatching up his notebook. Logan was frozen in his place. His specialty may have been the English language, but he was unable to come up with a reply.

“Did….. Did you read it?” Anxiety Inquired quietly, rage still present in his eyes, but slowly fading into a mixture of sadness and worry.

After a few moments of silence, Logan collected himself, learning to speak once more. “I'm…. I'm sorry Anx, it was open on your bed and curiosity got the better of me, please forgive my intrusion.” Logan awaited Virgil's answer to his apology, looking at the anxious side patiently.

He sighed in response, plopping down on his bed and hiding his head in his hands. Logan was about to speak up when a mellow question came from Virgil.

“Do you know who its for, Logan?” Virgil looked up from his hands, making eye contact with the logical side next to him. Logic's stared back into Anxiety's comforting eyes, becoming lost within the sea of brown.

Logan eventually comprehended what was asked, confusion lining his analytical yet soft features. Whenever Logic thought something over, he looked like a computer attempting to process unfamiliar information.

“Its for you Logan, i wrote that poem for you.” Logan's breath caught in his throat, cheeks turning redder than they previously were.

Logan sat in silence for a bit, he had never dealt with such strange human emotions. The fluttering of his stomach, the heat rising to his face, the sudden and longing urge to wrap Virgil in his arms and hold him close. The anxious side was worried he made a mistake confessing his love to the logical side, but before he could apologize Logan did something that surprised them both:

He pulled Anxiety centimeters away from his face until his lips connecting with Virgil's for a kiss filled with passion and emotion, yet it was still gentle, giving him a chance to pull away if he so pleased. Virgil melted into the kiss, pulling Logan closer to him, afraid that if they were to far apart this would all be a dream.

Both pulled away from the kiss with flushed faces, smiling dopey smiles at one another. Logic pulled Anxiety into another loving kiss, this one lasting slightly longer than the last.

Roman never did get his sash that night.

#analogical #thomas sanders #sander sides fanfiction #analogical fanfiction #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders

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mycatshuman · 6 years ago

Text

Dreaming of Snow: A Sanders Sides White Christmas Au Chapter 4

Word count:

Warnings: fire mention

Pairing: Romantic Prinxiety, Romantic Logicality, platonic royality, platonic Analogical

Thank you to @youre-lazy-and-youre-gay0-0 and @civilsounds17 for reading this chapter for me. 💜

Happy holidays everyone!

As the brothers performed their number, Virgil reflected on all of his memories of the General. “We ate, then he ate. We slept, then he slept. Then nobody slept for 48 hours,” he whispered to Logan.

Logan nodded. “It really is a shame. This man was a general. He helped to protect our country and look at where he is now. An indebted landlord with an empty inn.”

The brothers ended the show and changed before joining Virgil and Logan for dinner. “You know I think I can give you a few pointers on your brother number. The wardrobe, I don't like it,” Virgil snickered as Roman gasped, his hand flying to his chest in mock offense, a wide smile on his face.

“But it's so purdy,” Roman teased.

Virgil shook his head. “I'd hate to see your other outfits.”

Roman chuckled before he sobered up. “I don't know but I really don't like this. It's like taking a homeless man's last cent.”

Patton nodded then turned to Joan who was giving them a basket of rolls. “Joan, do you think you could talk him into letting us work for half salary?”

Joan shook their head. “Nope. When it comes to certain things Thomas is so stubborn you can't get him to move a centimeter. He's advancing himself into bankruptcy.” Virgil's eyes blew wide. “What?”

Joan nodded, face grim. “He's sunk everything. His pension, life savings, absolutely everything into remodeling this place. Before he turned it into a Scooby Doo haunted house, it was a gristmill and barn.”

“Really?” Logan asked, surprised as he took in his surroundings once again. “It really is impressive, the difference.”

Joan nodded before they left.

Virgil frowned. “There has got to be something we can do.”

“We should go to New York tomorrow. We got connections there. Get him a spot somewhere,” Logan answered.

Virgil shook his head. “That takes too long. The problem is here and now. We gotta be here and think of ways to get people to come here.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” Logan asked.

Virgil froze, feeling put on the spot. He took a breath and shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Maybe someone famous,” Patton suggested.

Logan's eyebrows furrowed. “That's not a bad idea, Patton.” Patton beamed.

“Maybe somebody like Wallace and Davis,” Roman suggested.

Virgil shook his head. “No, Princey, you couldn't get them, they're too big.” Roman blinked at Virgil. “What?” Virgil asked, clueless. Suddenly it hit him. “Oh! Wait! We're Wallace and Davis!” He turned to Logan. “How about it?”

Logan nodded, deep in thought. “I think you got something.” He turned to Talyn, who was standing off to the side. “Hey, Talyn, could you take me to the phone. I gotta make a call to New York.”

Talyn nodded and Logan followed them to the front desk where the phone sat.

“I don't know what he's up to, but he's got that Rodgers & Hammerstein look again,” Virgil commented as he watched the logical man walk away.

“Is that bad?” Patton asked.

Virgil shook his head. “Not bad, but always expensive. Excuse me,” he got up and joined Logan who stood talking on the phone.

“Now, get this straight,” Logan spoke into the phone.

“Good luck with that,” Virgil commented.

Logan rolled his eyes.

“The whole show up here in three days. Sets, costumes and all the cast that you can round up.”

“Wait, what's this gonna cost?” Virgil asked, he was getting anxious about all this.

“Everyone gets an extra weeks pay and a bonus for you. We open Christmas Eve.”

“The tab! How much!?” Virgil exclaimed, his heart rate picking up speed. They had to make sure they were spending things wisely.

Logan seemed to finally hear him. “Uh, what is this going to cost? Wow!” Logan exclaimed once he heard the cost.

Virgil's eyes blew wide. “How much is 'wow’?”

“Well, okay, you do the best you can.”

“How much is 'wow’?”

“Whatever acts we can't get we fill with the Haynes Brothers,” Logan told Virgil. Virgil felt his anxiety spike.

“How much is ‘wow’?” Virgil all but shouted.

Logan grimaced. He hadn't meant to cause Virgil's anxiety to jump. “Right in between ‘ouch’ and 'boing’.”

“Wow!” Virgil shook his head. They were doing this for the general.

All if the sudden, Joan came out of another room. “I won't tell Thomas, but I just wanted you to know that bringing your show here is the nicest thing-”

“How'd you know?” Virgil asked, shocked.

“Like any decent, self-respecting housekeeper, I listened in on the other phone!”

Virgil chuckled. This human was hilarious. Logan shook his head. Things were about to get crazy.

----

Thomas pulled out, in front if the Inn on his jeep and gasped. There were people everywhere and big pieces of set and boxes of props were all over the place. He spotted Virgil and Logan standing in the center of all of it. He quickly put the jeep in park and made his way over to the dynamite act.

“What's all this?” He asked the two, wide eyed.

Virgil stiffened slightly, worried that they had upset the General. Logan, however, straightened his tie. ��We saw that you had a nice empty ski lodge here and it's ideal for a rehearsal space for our show. It also provides us a chance to test new material on the audience. Use people as metaphorical guinea pigs,” Logan explained.

Thomas shook his head and chuckled. “Pigs, I can get for you. People? I'm not so sure.”

“With all due modesty, sir, Wallace and Davis never had any trouble getting an audience.”

Virgil almost snickered at the small hint of pride in Logan's voice.

“Well,” Thomas chuckled again as he shook his head. “Well go ahead. It appears I don't know as much about big time showbiz as I thought.”

Virgil and Logan chuckled. “Yup.”

----

Virgil and Logan stood on the stage in all black suits with red undershirts and gloves and top hats. They were doing the dress rehearsal of the Minstrel number.

“I'd rather see a minstrel show Than any other show I know Oh, those comical folks With their riddles and jokes,” Logan and Virgil sang as they danced across the stage. “Here is the riddle that I love the best.” “Why does a chicken go…” Logan started to sing before Virgil covered his mouth. “You know the rest,” Virgil sang. “Yes, sir!” The two joined together again. “I'd pawn my overcoat and vest To see a minstrel show.” The background behind them raised up until it showed rows of backwards chairs with dancers standing beside them. In the very front, Roman sat in an all black strapless dress with glittery red gloves and a bunch of red fabric puffing out of the back.

The boys moved back and sat on stools on either side of Roman and picked up tambourines and hit them against their palms along with the other dancers. Then, the three stood and moved towards the center of the stage, lined up behind each other.

“Mr. Bones, Mr. Bones How do you feel, Mr. Bones?” Roman sang as he crossed his arms and leaned to the right while Logan leaned to the left right behind him, with Virgil staying in the middle right behind him. The three clapped before Roman leaned to the left as Virgil and Logan leaned to the right. “Rattling,” Logan answered. Virgil quickly leaned to the left as Roman moved to the middle and leaned his elbow on Logan’s shoulder as Logan leaned to the right, his arm around Roman's waist. “Mr. Bones feels rattling.” Roman moved his hand to his chest. “Ha, ha, that's a good one.” Roman leaned to the left as he crossed his arms, placing his hands right about his elbows, and Virgil moved to the middle behind the two. “Tell a little story, Mr. Bones.” Logan nodded his head and went to speak. “A funny little story, Mr. Bones,” Virgil sang, cutting Logan off. Logan closed his mouth and looked at the two before he stepped to the side and stood in front of Roman as Roman moved to stand in front of Virgil. “How can you stop an angry dog From biting you on Monday?” Logan sang. Virgil leaned to the left and rested his red gloved hands on Logan's shoulder while Roman mirrored the action on Logan's right. “That joke is old The answer is to kill the dog on Sunday,” Roman sang as Logan shifted his eyes back and forth between the two before the two leaned back to standing behind him. Logan shook his head as he raised his hand before lowering it and clasping his hands together. “That's not the way to stop a dog From biting you on Monday.” Logan crossed his arms as Virgil and Roman repeated their earlier actions. “How would you bring the thing about?” Roman sang deeply. Logan uncrossed his arms and leaned forward taking off his hat and holding it sideways next to his head in a ‘top of the mornin to ya’ move. “Have the doggie's teeth pulled out!” “Oh, Mr. Bones, that's terrible,” Roman sang as he and Virgil moved to either side of Logan and looked down. Logan frowned and looked sad. “Yes, Mr. Bones, that's terrible,” Roman and Virgil sang as they leaned on Logan's shoulders. Then the three stepped and danced around in a sort of figure eight before lining up beside each other with Virgil in the middle. “Mr. Interloc'ter,” Virgil sang as Roman placed his hand on Virgil's left shoulder while Logan place his on Virgil's right. “What is wrong with you?” Roman sang. “Well, I know of a doctor,” Virgil sang putting emphasis on doc-tor. “Tell about him, too.” “Sad to say one day he fell,” Virgil twirled his hand around and pointed down while the three looked down, with Roman and Logan leaning forward slightly. “Right into a great big well.” “Oh, that's too bad.” “But not at all,” Virgil sang as he smiled brightly. “Why speak in such a tone?” Roman sang. “He should have attended to the sick And let the well alone.” Virgil jumped behind Roman while Roman jumped to the front and Logan to the back. “That's a joke,” Roman put his hand on his hip.

Virgil leaned to the left and Logan to the right as they shouted, “Ho! Ho!” “That was told.”

Virgil leaned to the right while Logan to the left and shouted, “Ha! Ha!” “In the minstrel days we miss,” Virgil moved to the left of Roman while Logan moved to the right and the three moved to the left in a line. The three joined together to sing. “When Georgie Primrose used to sing And dance to a song like this!” Up on top of the stairs, Patton rose up in a white a silver one piece with sparkling red gloves, a white train that started at the hips and white high heels. “Randy! Randy! Randy! Randy!” Patton spun in a circle before starting to step down the staircase. “There's a minister handy And it sure would be dandy,” the chorus sang as dancers in all green except for a red undershirt, laid across the stairs, making Patton have to step around their legs. “If we let him make a fee. So don't you linger.” One of the dancers held their hand out to Patton who took it and was spun partially into their arms as they leaned back. “Here's a ring for your finger.” Another dancer held his hand out to Patton, who accepted and moved to the left while looking forward with a bright smile on his face.

“Isn't it a humdinger?” Patton stepped forward again and stepped over the legs of a few female dancers who looked like dolls, with red hair and red clothing. “Come along and let the wedding chimes Bring happy times for Randy and me.” Patton twirled when he got to the bottom and leapt to the right. “Randy, what a gent,” Virgil and Logan sang as Patton hopped over to stand in between them.

“Oh, Mandy,” the chorus started singing again as Patton laced his arms through the right of Virgil's and the left of Logan's. “There's a minister handy.” The trio took broad steps to the left as the chorus sang in the background. “And it sure would be dandy.” Patton unlinked his arms from the two and danced forward before dancing back and relinkling his arms with the two men. “If we let him make a fee.” “He's got his rent to pay. So don't delay. It's not a day to linger,” Virgil and Logan sang as the trio slammed their foot down and tapped at the floor. “Here's a ring for your finger. Isn't it a humdinger?” The three bent their knees as they “bounced” slightly before Patton danced forward and spun in a circle. He danced back and spun around to lean partially against Logan. “We advise to live and love,” Virgil and Logan sang along with the chorus as they clapped and leaned closer to Patton. “And honor and obey. Before he gets away. Make it Randy and me.” The trio stepped sideways as they moved to the left of the stage in a group with Virgil in front of Patton and Logan behind him. They paused for a moment as Patton looked forward a winked.

Patton spun around as they trio sort of tap danced around. Then Logan and Virgil kind of danced after Patton who was stepping to the side as one hand was placed on his hip with the other above his head. “The wedding chimes,” Logan sang as he wrapped his arm around Patton's waist from the left while Virgil did the same from the right. “Bring happy times,” Virgil sang as the three jumped in the air. The two joined together to sing, “For Randy and me.”

Patton placed his hands on his hips slightly stomped his feet in an almost marching fashion as dancers came up to take the big train off his outfit and raising it up into the air. Patton stepped underneath the garment and danced to the left and came up beside a man with a lighter green suit and red undershirt and gloves. The two danced around each other as they spun around. Then Patton did a toe spin before he bent back slightly and let himself drop. The man caught him and pulled him up again and the two spun in a circle a few times. Then the two danced elaborately with Patton raising his leg straight up in the air a few times. Behind them, the chorus all danced in rows with tambourines as the music continued.

Then everyone joined together to dance the same moves as they moved in unison, all the while hitting their tambourines against the palms of their hands along to the music. Patton then spun and did a cartwheel before being lifted up by the dancers in green suits while doing splits.

Patton and the man with the light green suit danced over to the bottom of the stairs where they spun around some more before two dancers in dark green held Patton as he leaned back onto their arms and they took him up the stairs as his leg stick up in the air and his head was hanging upside down. “So don't you linger. Here's a ring for your finger,” the chorus began again before the dancers in green all formed two lines down the stairs as Patton was thrown on top of their arms. “Isn't it a humdinger? Come along and let the wedding chimes. Bring happy times. For Randy and me.” The chorus held onto the last note as Patton flipped backwards and forwards multiple times, with the help of the dancers, down the stairs.

The song ended with Patton sitting on the dancer in the light green, Emiles’ shoulders, and Roman on the bottom step with Virgil on the left and Logan on the right.

Thomas, Joan, and Talyn clapped after. The number ended. “This'll bring in business,” Joan commented as the cast filed off stage.

Roman quickly made his way to the piano and played a part of the song. “Patton? Was the tempo a little slow here?” He asked before playing the part and singing it.

Before Virgil knew what he was doing, he leaned forward and moved his arms around Roman to get to the keys. “Well you gotta drive it,” he told Roman and played the notes. The considerable difference was one was more upbeat and faster than the other. “Is that better?” Virgil asked as he turned to Roman just as the other turned his head to face him.

“Yes actually-” both froze as they realized their faces were only centimetres apart. Virgil felt his face heat up but he still didn't move. “Much better,” Roman breathed.

As the two shared a moment, Patton looked to Logan who seemed to be very proud of himself.

----

Patton looked out the window just in time to see Virgil leaving his and Logan's shared cabin before going to dining room. Patton looked across the way to see Logan peeking out the curtains before looking over at him. Logan winked and Patton mouthed, ‘I'll be right there,’ Before turning around and grabbing a pillow. He walked over to Roman's bed as he heard his brother sing the Randy song under his breath. He handed him the pillow as Roman laid down.

“Is something wrong?” Patton asked.

Roman shook his head. “Nah, just a little restless is all.”

“Maybe if you had something to eat or a glass of milk you'd sleep better,” Patton suggested as he sat back on his own bed.

Roman shook his head. “Uh no I'm not hungry.”

Patton had to think fast if he wanted to get Roman into the same room as Virgil, alone. “I think Joan said they left some sandwiches at the snack bar.”

“Patton, go to bed.” “I think milk will definitely help-”

Roman groaned and sat up. “That's it! I'll go! Only so you stop telling me to!”

Patton smiled as Roman stood and wrapped a gold robe around him, covering his crimson pjs before he opened the door and walked to the dining room.

Patton quickly raced to the window to confirm that Roman was going to the dining room. Logan smiled and held up a finger before quickly ducking back into his room.

----

Roman opened the door to the dining room and walked past the fireplace and found Virgil at the piano pressing a few keys. “Hi,” Roman spoke up.

Virgil jumped and turned to see Roman standing behind him. “Oh, Roman.” He placed a hand to his chest. Before he frowned. “What are you doing up?”

Roman inched closer. “Couldn't sleep,” he said with a shrug.

“Aren't you a little young for that?” Virgil asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Aren't you?” Roman shot back.

Virgil shook his head, a fond smile gracing his face. Roman couldn't help but love seeing Virgil's smile. The two stood for a moment in silence as they thought. Suddenly, Virgil spoke up. “I take it you're here for some sandwiches?” he asked. The anxious man made his way over to the bar.

Roman cleared his throat. “Actually, I was hoping, since you're here, if you had any tricks to fall asleep. I mean,” Roman shuffled his feet as he looked down. “I know you were in the army and I know Toby mentioned he had nightmares and trouble sleeping while overseas. And I thought that maybe-”

“That maybe I did too?” Virgil asked softly.

Roman finally looked up at Virgil. There was a soft smile on the man's face. Roman almost got lost in his eyes. He nodded his head. “Yeah…” Virgil lead Roman over to the small fireplace. The two sat opposite each other.

“When I'm worried and I can't sleep. I count my blessings Instead of sheep. And I fall asleep Counting my blessings,” Virgil started to sing. Roman felt himself become lost the lulling sound of Virgil's voice as he sang to him. “When my bankroll is getting small, I think of when I had none at all. And I fall asleep Counting my blessings.” Roman felt a blush rising in his cheeks. It was hard not to blush when an extremely handsome man was singing to you. “I think about a nursery. And I picture curly heads. And one by one I count them As they slumber in their beds. If you're worried And you can't sleep Just count your blessings Instead of sheep. And you'll fall asleep Counting your blessings.” Virgil finished smiling softly.

“Do you mind if I say something?” Roman asked as the two stood. “I think what you're doing for the General is the nicest thing ever. And I want to apologize for being so judgmental towards you at first.” Roman sighed. “I guess I've just been a little silly thinking about knights’ in white horses.”

“You know,” Virgil started. “It's kind of dangerous putting those knights up on white horses, they might fall.”

Roman smiled at Virgil. “I think mine’s here to stay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Virgil's head snapped up to meet Roman's gaze. “I-it makes a guy a little nervous being up there on those animals all alone.”

Roman chuckled. “Are you worried?”

“Kind of,” Virgil admitted.

Roman smiled. “If you're worried And you can't sleep Just count your blessings Instead of sheep. And you'll fall asleep Counting your blessings,” As the last word left Roman's lips, he leaned forward, closing the distance between him and Virgil.

Virgil felt fireworks. He would never admit it of course. He wasn't a sap, he didn't believe in love at first sight. He didn't believe in feeling fireworks when one kissed. But in that moment, that one small moment, he did. He felt an explosion of warmth in his chest as they kissed.

They pulled apart when they heard Thomas walk in. Thomas was smiling as he looked at the two. “I'm sorry, I was just after a little snack.” His smirk grew cheeky. “I see you've already beaten me to it.”

Virgil flushed while Roman chuckled. “Oh I sure did,” Roman said as he winked. Thomas chuckled as Virgil's blush darkened. “I'll be leaving then.” Roman watched as Thomas left before turning to the blushing mess in front of him. Roman giggled. Virgil really was adorable with a blush on his face.

----

Virgil pulled in next to the general who sat on a bench. “Hey, Thomas.”

“Virgil! Any mail for me?” Virgil looked through the stack he held in his hands. “From Washington?”

Virgil stopped looking for a second. “Washington?” He asked. Thomas nodded. Virgil frowned and looked down and quickly found a letter addressed to the General. “Right here.” He handed the letter over to Thomas who smiled as he looked down.

“I'm gonna tell you something I haven't even told Joan. I'm going back in the army,” Thomas told Virgil eagerly as he opened the envelope.

Virgil's eyes blew wide. “Really?”

Thomas nodded. “Yup. I was just waiting for this letter!”

Virgil watched as Thomas eagerly read the letter. He was surprised of course to learn that the General had replied for active duty but he knew the man never really could sit still. Virgil felt himself frown as the general's face fell. “What is it?”

Thomas folded up the letter absently. “They're saying they don't need me,” he whispered.

“Thomas….” Virgil frowned. He didn't know what to say.

Thomas shook his head. “No it's okay.” The man stood and walked over to the jeep, “I should go make sure we have enough firewood. It's getting chilly.”

Virgil watched as Thomas walked to the jeep and started it before heading into the woods where he would gather some more firewood. All Virgil could think was, Something needs to be done.

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hellomynameisbisexual · 6 years ago

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I’M BISEXUAL AND I HAVE ANXIETY AND I’M NOT ALONE

To know me is to know a few key things about me. It is hard to get through an introduction, a first date or meeting with me without walking away having learned a few choice facts. I’m opinionated, stubborn, and (I think) I am funny. I’m sarcastic, and tend to lean towards the pessimistic side of things. I’m one of the few people I know who is unafraid to grow up to turn into their mother because I think my mother is a saint.

We all have things that are so key, so integral to who we are, that we wear them right on the surface, like a collection of statement pins on a lapel.

My metaphorical pins say things like “Smash the patriarchy.” “Gender roles make me sad,” “Colorado native,” and “I like dogs more than people.” Two of the most important say “Bi Pride” and “Anxious is my permanent state.”

Yes, I am bi and I have an anxiety disorder, and I’m not ashamed.

Growing up, there were hints pointing to both my anxious tendencies and my bisexuality. They are both things I struggled to understand and, once I did understand, they seemed impossible to explain to other people. Both are also things many people refuse to believe exist; or, if people acknowledge their existence, they have too many mistaken preconceived notions to see them clearly.

I remember feeling my first attraction towards women when I was eight years old watching, of all things, the “Lady Marmalade” music video starring Maya, Lil Kim, Pink, and Christina Aguilera. That was the first hint I can specifically recall about my bisexuality.

The first hint I can recall of my anxiety was at age 10 when I couldn’t figure out my math homework. I had learned the concepts earlier that day and they seemed to make sense then, but as soon as I got home it all went right out of my head. It was taking so long, and I was so tired. The pressure to get it done and to get it done right was overwhelming. Now, over a decade later, I still remember sobbing, gasping for breath, pulling on my hair, and trying to explain my frustration to my terrified mother.

I began the coming-out process at 18, while wrapping up my senior year of high school. It seemed like a long time coming. I’d been finding myself having infatuations with girls in my school for years, and finally came to realize I was totally head-over-heels for one of my female best friends. It had been confusing, especially with the “girl crush” idea my generation was peddling. I eventually figured out that what I was feeling was a consistent attraction pattern not limited by gender. And once Grey’s Anatomy’s Callie Torres gave me a word for it and a quality example of it, I was good to go. My anxiety took longer to figure out.

My sophomore year of college I decided to move in with someone I’d just met. We seemed to really hit it off and we thought living together would be a dream. Sadly, it didn’t take long for me to realize that our personalities and idiosyncrasies didn’t match up quite like we’d hoped. Tension grew and eventually I reached a point where I began to feel my stomach turn at the idea of returning to my dorm room. My heart rate would increase and my breathing would become shallow. I felt completely out of control. It was my roommate explaining their own anxiety disorder to me that helped me translate what these symptoms meant.

We stopped cohabiting at the end of that school year, but the sparks of anxiety I’d felt over the years became a full-blown fire. It’s still a daily fight.

I am bi and I struggle with an anxiety disorder. Now, although I have grown to understand and accept both of these facts, they remain strange and oftentimes unfathomable to others. And they each come with their own set of stigmas.

Telling people I’m bi means hearing people tell me in return that bisexuality is greedy, and being bi inherently makes me slutty or more likely to cheat. It means being treated as too gay for the straight community, but too straight for the gay community. It means having to explain that no matter whom I end up with, I have not “picked a side.”

Telling people I have anxiety means having people underestimate me or think I’m too weak to handle what they can. It means having people feel as though they must walk on eggshells around me, as if I am likely to break at any moment. It means having others undermine my own experiences by saying things like “Oh, I get a little anxious too, sometimes. We all do! We all have anxiety sometimes.”

Yes, I am bi and I have an anxiety disorder. While both have been occasional sources of stress and confusion over the years, in both cases I can take comfort in community. Much like there are far more bisexual folks wandering around this planet than most people would expect, there are plenty of anxious folks, too. I can feel at home when there’s Pride festivals and LGBT clubs and bi resources all over the internet. I can feel understood when there’s group therapy and online forums and blogs about anxious life.

In my short time on this planet so far, I’ve learned that community can be one of the most powerful resources we have as human beings, and that our instinct to reach out to each other is one that cannot and should not be ignored. I’ve learned that when things get tough, I can find a home in supportive communities if I take a look around, reach out, and share my story with others. I’ve learned that we must encourage each other to do the same. There’s a great deal of beautiful variety in the human race, and that should be a source of pride for us all, never a source of shame. We all have unique qualities and face unique challenges, but we also all have a great deal in common. Community means supporting our differences and bonding over our similarities.

I am bisexual and I have anxiety and I’m not alone. And neither are you.

#anxitey #anxious #bisexual pride #biseuxal #bi curious #bisexuality #bisexual men #bisexual community #bisexual visibility #bisexual awareness

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choicesjunkie · 6 years ago

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Spoilers for TRR Book 2, Chapter 9

Okay, I decided to deviate a bit from the in game dialogue. I still keep to it for the most part, but I add things in. We’ll see how it goes? Also, talking to the Prince is so much more painful when I’m trying to get more into the MC’s head. Like, noooo, I’m so sorry! T.T I say as I make the decisions leading to this whole thing… >.>

When Drake and I made our way into the speakeasy, we saw a bunch of finely dressed noblemen sitting around, talking, eating steak and drinking. I could smell the odor of cigar smoke, but it wasn’t overpowering, which was nice. This place was pretty much where I expected Drake would hang out all the time if he were a nobleman.

“Wow…” I glanced over at Drake as he breathed the word, a look of awe on his face.

“Drake,” I said as we both stopped to take it all in. “This must be everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“Well, not everything,” He said, eyeing me pointedly. “But we’re checking a lot of boxes.” Drake said, looking longingly at the bar. “A lot of boxes,” He murmured under his breath.

“Bet you’re regretting ditching so many events, eh?” I asked, nudging him with my elbow playfully.

“Hah.” It was a short, sharp sound, and no doubt intended to be sarcastic. It was quite at odds with the wistful look on his face. “Maybe, if they were all in places like this.”

“Sorry I’m keeping you from being able to enjoy it,” I said, rubbing one arm uncomfortably. Not only do I tease him, and push him to betray his best friend, now I’m the reason he can’t enjoy what is effectively his dream event. Boy, am I a catch.

I really needed to stop moping in my internal dialogue. Keep focus on the mission!

“Don’t sweat it.” His tone was light. “It’s usually the company that makes the party, and you’re better company than almost everyone here.”

That made me feel all melty inside, and I couldn’t hold back a small smile.

“But…” He trailed off, eyes going back to the bar. “Wouldn’t it help us blend in if we got a couple glasses of whiskey?”

“Fair enough.” We grinned at each other.

Drake strolled over to the bar and got us each a glass and walked back over to me, where I was attempting to stay out of sight. He handed my drink over, and then took a sip of his own.

“I think this whiskey is older than I am.” He said, his eyes lighting up. “And probably costs more than everything I own.” He chuckled a bit sadly at that last part.

I raised my glass and took a taste. It was rich and smoky tasting. For effect, I smacked my lips quietly a couple of times.

“What do you think?” Drake asked, taking another sip.

“It’s amazing.” I’d never tasted this quality of alcohol before. If I thought the wines were impressive, they had nothing on this whiskey.

“Enjoy it. Whiskey like this comes along once in a lifetime.” I decided not to point out that this wouldn’t be the case if he didn’t avoid royal functions like the plague, because I don’t always have to be a pain. Instead, I sipped the whiskey along with him as we both noticed Maxwell chowing down on a steak across the room.

“Mmmmmm! Man, this steak is so good.” Maxwell said without quite finishing his mouthful of food. Bertrand would be appalled. At least he was using the correct fork.

“There he is,” Drake rolled his eyes. I would have to find a good time to inform him that if he did that too often, his eyes would fall out of his head. That would be a damn shame, as I rather enjoy looking into them. “I’ll go remind Agent Breakdance that he has a job to do.”

I nodded and ducked into a shadowy corner as Drake walked to Maxwell and grabbed him. I couldn’t help smiling. Though, I had a nagging feeling of anxiety working its way through my belly and for some reason, I couldn’t remember why…

“I don’t recall seeing you on the guest list.” Liam’s warm, gentle voice came from directly behind me, and it was like a shot of adrenaline to my system. That’s right, there was a high likelihood of running into the man I’d left everything behind to come chasing after. The man who made me feel like a character out of a romance novel.

The man my heart is betraying, I thought with a sickening pang of guilt.

“Liam!” I said, trying to hide the anxiety in my voice. I turned to look at his smiling face, and my anxiety melted away. There was just something about him that made everything feel okay. It didn’t matter that I was feeling uncertainty, because he was steady enough for both of us. Why was it so easy for me to forget that when I wasn’t standing with him?

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you turn up here.” He said, his eyes dancing with happiness, like seeing me had made his whole day. God, I wanted to be worthy of that look.

“Oh?” I asked, trying to keep an air of mystery, though I wasn’t sure why he wouldn’t be surprised to find me at his bachelor party.

“I’ve learned to never doubt what you’re capable of.” He said, stepping closer. It was as though with every inch he closed between us, the less I was able to think straight. He encompassed my every thought, and my body responded to him on a fundamental level.

It was official that I was the worst, but I couldn’t stop the words from slipping out of my mouth while I smiled like a fool at his closeness.

“Liam, I’d scale a volcano if it meant seeing you.”

“I’m sure you would.” Liam said as he reached out and touched my cheek. The absolutely loving smile that lit his face set my heart on fire, and the certainty with which he spoke nearly broke me. But both paled in comparison to the electricity I felt when he touched me. It overpowered everything else completely. It was like touching a live wire, but, you know, in a nice way. Why would I ever need anyone else but him? Drake didn’t seem willing to fight for me, so why was this even a choice? I decided that there had to be a way to reconcile the feelings that had been steadily developing for Drake. He clearly didn’t want me all that badly, and what I felt for Liam, I was pretty sure was love. Despite never having really known what it felt like before, I couldn’t imagine anything more powerful than how he made me feel when I was with him. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? When I was with him. Could it be love if I was so incapable of controlling myself when we were apart?

“As glad as I am to see you, I take it you’re not only here for my company.” He said it with a grin, and his voice cut me off from my train of thought. I paused for a moment, dazed, but pulled myself together quickly.

“Unfortunately, no.” Very unfortunate, really.

“Can I be of any assistance?” He asked, taking on a more business-like tone. He was eager to get everything figured out, and frustrated that he couldn’t do more. I was sure that it was even more frustrating having to pretend to be in love with Madeleine while I put myself in harms way.

“Thank you, Liam, but it’s probably safer if it looks like you’re not involved.” I said, noting his look of disappointment. “At least for now.” I took his hand in mine briefly, but let it go just in case someone saw us. Not that standing in a shadowing corner during his bachelor party wasn’t suspicious in the first place, but why push it?

“I understand. Although, on another note…” Liam leaned closer and cleared his throat. I fought the urge to kiss him. Damn it, Mayene, stay focused! “While you’re unexpectedly in my presence, I have a proposal for you.”

My breath caught on the word ‘proposal’, but I knew it wasn’t anything like that.

“There’s a particularly magical spot along the Seine, a bridge with columns crowned by golden statues. I’ve been watching it for the past couple of days, and around midnight, it’s completely deserted. If you’re have me, I’d like to take you away from all of this… from our enemies and the plots against us… and just have an evening with you in the heart of Paris.” He spoke excitedly by the end, and the prospect of having an evening together, just the two of us, was very tempting. My brain needed some recalibrating, and some alone time together sounded like exactly what I needed.

“Won’t you be tired after all of this?” I asked, instead of immediately agreeing like I wanted to.

“After all of this, time with you will be like air to a drowning man. Which is the say that nothing would keep me from you. As selfish as that may sound.” He said earnestly, and I wasn’t sure if he was aware of just how much his poetic way of speaking was melting me into a metaphorical puddle. If he was selfish, I didn’t even know what that would make me.

“King Liam, you are quite the charmer. You always know just what to say to make me forget everything else around us.”

“I should hope so, my Lady,” He smiled mischievously. “I hope that ability never leaves me, as a King’s work is never finished.” He finished with an attempt at a dramatic sigh, which was ruined by his inability to stop smiling.

“Well, even kings need time to relax once in a while.” I said imperiously. After a moment of thought, I added, “No one can spend every moment worrying unless they’re Bertrand.”

“You’re right,” Liam said, stifling a chuckle.

“When am I not?” I asked, raising my chin and turning my head in some semblance of a haughty pose. Liam couldn’t quite keep the chuckle stifled.

“In the spirit of relaxation, then, meet me later tonight if you’d like to enjoy a classic Parisian evening by the river.”

“And what would we be doing, exactly?” I asked, trying to think of what there could possibly be to do in the middle of the night, besides… Well, best not to think of that right now. I tried to hide my blush. Thank goodness we were in the shadows.

“Consider it a… midnight street tour.” Liam said after a moment of thought. “We’ll have Paris all to ourselves while the rest of the city sleeps.”

“That sounds amazing.” I said, feeling warm at the thought of walking around Paris alone with Liam.

“I’m glad you think so. I hope I’ll see you later, then.”

I was about to answer when two noblemen approached us. Liam and I made some small talk with them, trying to play off my presence at the closed event until Drake spotted me and waved me over.

“Well, it looks like I’m needed over by the drinks, have a good time.” I said, and as I started to head over to Drake, who was trying to look like he hadn’t been watching the whole interaction, Liam leaned over and whispered, “Good luck.” I smiled and walked to the bar, ready to start the next phase of the mission.

#TRR #TheRoyalRomance #The Royal Romance #Spoiler #Spoilers #Drake #MC #Liam #Fanfiction #Choices #game

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