#felix: [dissociating] no yeah that's fine

[blujayonthewing]

felix: [takes limerick aside early in the campaign and confides, with difficulty because he's ashamed about it, that he sometimes has trouble speaking at all, because he wants at least someone to have fair warning ahead of it possibly coming up if he's gonna be traveling in a group for any amount of time]

limerick the first time felix mostly loses speech: you've been really quiet, everything okay? do you have any thoughts to add [to this discussion]? :)

limerick last session when simon lowkey assigned felix to go do a social encounter: I'll go with you, to help with the talking :)

limerick as soon as we're in the social encounter: [looks directly at felix, expectantly]

[minminyoonjii]

Tea Party

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🧡Stray Kids Scenarios Masterlist

🌹CW

Wholesome|Hurt/Comfort|Anxiety Attack|Brief Dissociation|Semi Regression|Feeling Numb|Coaxing Out Of Dissociation 💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1K

"Hhgh," you whined, stretching your sore limbs from a well-rested sleep. You sat up, rubbing your eyes awake before blindly patting around to get your phone. The bright light made you squint, "Ugh," you groaned, waiting for the auto brightness to adjust. There were a few hours before lunch but you already felt energized enough to do something. "There must be something I can do," you mumbled, pondering for a second when you realized your beloved plush wasn't in bed. 

You instantly looked around, only to see it lying face down on the floor. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you picked it up, "I'm so sorry," you mumbled, burying your face into it. You sighed in relief, feeding the plush of your warmth. 'Want a tea party,' a thought deep within your subconscious whispered. "Yeah, that sounds fun," you whispered aloud, crawling off your bed to get everything set up. You pulled a box from under your bed and inside it was a kid's play set, just perfect for a little one like you. 

"This goes here," you mumbled, arranging the chairs and table to your heart's desire. Soon the tea party was about to begin, but something was missing. You furrowed your eyebrows, checking off everything you needed, 'Guests? checked,' all your toys are in place. 'Food? checked,' there are cookies on the table. 'Tea? Oh!' That's right you were missing the tea. It can't be a tea party without tea now can it? You got up from the table, holding the teapot to fill it with water, "I have to be quick," you whispered, making your way to the kitchen. 

You didn't bother to lift your head, prioritizing your quiet feet instead. To say the least, you got scared when you bumped into someone. "Oh, sunbeam. What are you doing this early?" Felix asked, ruffling your bed hair. You straightened up, clearing your throat, "Water. I just wanted water," you said, hoping he wouldn't pick up on your nervousness. "In that?" Felix questioned, noticing the teapot in your hand. You nodded, "Yeah, yeah. In this," you said, pressing it against the water filter to fill it up. 

Felix hummed, "You're not hiding a tea party from me right? Because I'd love to join," he said, drinking his morning coffee. You bit down on your tongue, holding yourself back from spontaneously saying yes, "Would you actually?" you asked offhandedly, just in case he was jesting. Felix nodded, "Of course, I would sunbeam. Wouldn't miss it for the world," he reassured, remaining eye contact with you. "Fine, but you can't be too loud, this is a quiet tea party," you mumbled, walking back to your room. 

"Wow, you did a great job, sunbeam," he said, sitting next to your plush toys as you sat across from him. You began pouring 'tea' into every single cup, "The tea party can begin," you whispered, proud of your work. Felix chuckled, moving his hand behind one of your plushies, "Mm, this tea is just right," he said in a high-pitched voice. You smiled, "Try the cookies too," you said, handing the plush some cookies. Felix tilted the plush's head down, "Yummy, that was delicious," he said, making you burst out into giggles.

You felt yourself sink into that familiar headspace, pleased by the company of your plush toys and members. Felix noticed the glint in your eyes changed, "Are you feeling alright, sunbeam?" he asked, holding up his teacup so you wouldn't be startled by his question. "Ahm, is alright," you whispered, swaying yourself with a cookie in hand. Felix chuckled, reaching behind another plush, "Well I have to say, this tea party is the most fun I've had," he said, using his deeper voice. 

"That's good," you replied, feeling your heart swell in pride. Felix cooed, secretly snapping a few pictures of your blissful state. All was good until you perked up at the sound of someone closing the door outside. Your smile dropped as your heart sank. You sat the teacup down, eyes wavering to think of what to do next. 'Should I keep everything?' 'Should I stop?' 'Is it safe to play a little longer?' you thought, trying to make a quick decision but it only resulted in your breathing picking up in a panic.

Felix's eyes widened, "Hey, hey. Look at me, sunbeam. How many things can you see, hm?" he asked, cautious of touching you. "Too many," you whispered, seeing too many things. Felix winced at his mistake, "Why don't you list at least five of those things for me?" he asked, specifying the question. You furrowed your eyebrows, “A teacup, cookies, my hands, the teacup dish and the plushies," you said, feeling your heart rate slow down. "That's right. Good job, sunbeam," he praised, gently patting your head.

You exhaled deeply, frowning as the numbness crept up your skin. Felix noticed but he didn't know what to do next. You felt yourself zoning out, staring blankly at the teacup in front of you. Felix wanted to help but honestly, it was making him spiral, "I'm going to go get someone okay, sunbeam?" he said, getting up. You nodded, dipping your finger into the chilling water. Felix huffed, dragging Minho in without an explanation. Just as Minho was about to retort, Felix turned his attention towards you.

Minho eyed your movement for a bit before knowing what was wrong. He didn't say a word, only gesturing for Felix to sit back down. Minho sat next to you, holding a teacup of his own behind clinking it with yours. You furrowed your eyebrows at the disturbance but wavered when you noticed Minho next to you. He smiled, gradually initiating movements from you, either by pouring you another cup of tea or making you take a bit of the cookies. Minho slowly eased you out of that dissociative episode.

You soon found yourself consciously doing this again, shivering as the chill numbness wore off. Felix smiled, glad that you're back to playing and interacting again. Minho chuckled, grabbing his own Leebit to join the tea party as well. Felix eventually sent the photos to the members and it didn't take long for his phone to buzz with notifications. He chuckled, teasing the members for being out of the house. Minho pinched Felix's ear lobe, "Stop that before they rush back home and break down the door," he whispered with you being none the wiser. 

[wearequeer-andwearehere]

Do you happen to have a list of arospec identities? *khm* asking for a friend the friend is me

Heya there Felix :D

I‘m not aro, so any aros here feel free to correct me if I’ve done anything wrong! This is what I’ve gotten from my research, so ye! Click the word to see the link to the LGBTA wiki page for it, where you can read more—this definitely isn’t a complete list in any way, but it’s a list of most of the labels I’ve heard of!

Here’s the LGBTA wiki page for all the arospec identities - the list is quite long so I’ll out some more common labels in this post, but here’s the page for all arospec identities!

LGBTA Wiki: Arospec Identities

So, without further ado, here are the identities!

Aromantic is a romantic orientation defined by a lack of romantic attraction. 

Romantic attraction is often defined as the desire to be in a romantic relationship and/or do romantic acts with a specific person. For non-aromantic people (alloromantics) romantic attraction is involuntary and even occurs when someone doesn't know the other person (though one might not act on it). Aromantic people do not have an innate desire to be in a romantic relationship with specific people. They might also feel disconnected from the idea of romance.

Demiromantic is someone who does not experience romantic attraction until they have formed a deep emotional connection with someone. The connection can be sexual, platonic, or some other form of connection. Forming an emotional bond with someone does not mean that one is automatically attracted to said person, as it just means there's now a possibility for one to feel attraction.

Greyromantic describes those who relate with aromanticism, yet feel that there are parts of their experience that aren't fully described by the word aromantic. 

Greyromantic can be used as a specific identity, or as an umbrella term for any aro-spec identity that isn't purely aromantic, including demiromantic and others. A common reason someone may identify as greyromantic is that they experience romantic attraction but very infrequently. Some greyromantic people may only feel romantic attraction once or twice in their life. Others may experience it more frequently, but still not as frequently as alloromantic people.

Aroflux is someone whose romantic orientation fluctuates but generally stays on the aromantic spectrum. An aroflux person may feel very strongly aromantic one day and less aromantic another day, they might feel demiromantic or greyromantic at times. Some aroflux people may feel like they are alloromantic at times.

Arospike is someone who usually feels no romantic attraction, but occasionally has rare and sudden spikes of romantic attraction for an amount of time that can vary from a day to a couple of months before returning to one's normal amounts of aromanticism.

Frayromantic or ignotaromantic is someone who only experiences romantic attraction towards those that they are not deeply connected with, and lose that attraction as they get to know the person. Frayromantic is often described as being "the opposite of demiromantic".

Lithromantic or akoiromantic is someone who may experience romantic attraction but does not want it reciprocated. The lithromantic person may be uncomfortable at the thought of someone being romantically attracted to them, or they may lose their romantic feelings if they learn it's reciprocated. As such, lithromantics do not feel compelled to seek out a romantic relationship. 

Nebularomantic is a romantic orientation on the aromantic spectrum. Those who are nebularomantic are unable to distinguish the difference between romantic and platonic attraction. But in the case of nebularomantic people, that is due to one's status as neurodivergent.The term nebularomantic is exclusive to and should only be used by neurodivergent people.

Platoniromantic describes the feeling of not being able to distinguish between platonic and romantic feelings.

Quoiromantic (also called WTFromantic or Whatromantic) is a term associated with challenging one's own romantic orientation as not personally helpful.

It also can include not knowing one's romantic orientation or not wanting to define one's romantic orientation. Quoiromantic experiences may include: being unsure what romantic attraction is, and therefore being unsure if one has experienced it or not, finding the concept of romance to be inaccessible, inapplicable, or nonsensical, or being unable to understand romantic attraction as a concept or feeling.

Agnoromantic or alicoromantic is someone who knows they are somewhere on the aromantic spectrum, but their romantic orientation does not fit in any aromantic spectrum label. Alicoromantic can also mean that one has not figured out yet which label fits them best. 

Aegoromantic idescribes those who enjoy the concept of romance but have a disconnection between themself and the subject of romantic fantasies.

Aegoromantic people may have romantic fantasies, enjoy romantic media, or engage in shipping in fandoms, but they tend to feel little to no romantic attraction in real life and typically do not desire a romantic relationship. Oftentimes, their romantic fantasies are viewed from a dissociative third-person perspective, and not from the first person. They usually involve other people, such as fictional characters or celebrities with the aegoromantic person only being a disembodied observer. 

Apothiromantic is another word for romance repulsed. For some apothiromantics, they are repulsed at the idea of engaging in romance themselves, but are fine with romance that does not involve them. Others may be repulsed by the idea of romance in general. Those who are apothiromantic typically do not seek out romantic relationships and many dislike romantically coded actions such as kissing, or cuddling.

Bellusromantic is a micro-label on the aromantic spectrum defined as having interest in traditionally romantic things, such as kissing or cuddling, but not feeling romantic attraction, and not wanting a romantic relationship. A bellusromantic person may enjoy or desire these activities in non-romantic contexts, but does not enjoy them in the context of a romantic relationship.

Cupioromantic is someone who does not experience romantic attraction but still desires a romantic relationship. Cupioromantic people are typically romance favorable but they do not have to be.

Idemromantic is described as being able to categorize relationships and feelings as platonic or romantic based on outside factors, but experiencing no notable internal differences between platonic and romantic feelings. An idemromantic person may categorize certain relationships as romantic instead of platonic based on age, emotional closeness, presence of sexual attraction, or other factors. But their feelings toward their romantic interests would not be distinguishable from platonic feelings and may be similar to how they feel for a best friend.

So yeah, this definitely isn’t a comprehensive list, but I hope I could help out!! Lmk if you have any other questions, and have a great day/night :D

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #27)

(cw: drugs/addiction) ----------

01/13/88   4:05 PM

Hey.

I had a lot to think about after that total clustercuss. 

Once I came down enough from my high to start feeling sick, I threw the blanket over Fix-it and left. Not in a mushy way or anything, more like tossing it over a chair or coat rack. I would have stolen it and added it to the pile, but it reeked of him. That’s not what I want to smell while I’m falling asleep.

The arcade opened the same as any other day, which felt strange given the surreal horrors I’d spent the night battling. I definitely took some wounds away from it, in the way of the worst hangover I’d had in my life. Chills, headache, puking, all the standard stuff was there, but I’d never had mental effects quite like that before. My moods were spinning as much as my head. They were so intense, yet so cold all at once. Minute to minute, I’d be laughing ‘til it hurt, then hyperventilating, then punching the bark off the trees, then crying so hard I couldn’t stand up -- yet it all felt dissociated from me. They were physical symptoms of emotion, but the emotions themselves just weren’t there. I was just numb.

Eventually, I passed out. I fell asleep craving nothing more than the quenching release of GC.

One more, I told myself. Just one more.

What I told Fix-it was the truth -- I didn’t want to corrupt. I did want to avoid it. But what I said before about the risk feeling far away? That only got worse, moving forward. My brain said that if I had gotten this far, I was tolerant to it. I was tough. I could take just one more and be fine. If I didn’t take another, I’d be left with a bad taste in my mouth. If I didn’t take another, I’d be giving up one last chance to experience the freedom and euphoria that the first hit gave me. The second one couldn’t be the last. I couldn’t end on such a horrifying note with nothing to wash it down. I couldn’t be ready to face my reality again dragging that around. I needed just one more. Just one.

So, once I’d woken up and had some more time to pull myself together, I drew another portrait, from memory this time. I’d drawn Fix-it so many times perfecting my disguise of him, it was like muscle memory. I guess I just didn’t want him to be one of the first faces up on the wall, otherwise I’d have drawn him sooner. But at that point, I didn’t have the patience to track anyone down to model for me. He’d have to do.

I set out for Tapper’s, portrait in hand. But halfway there, the weirdest and creepiest thing happened. Remember in my buff trip where I’d lose little chunks of time?

That started happening in real life.

One second, I was crossing Game Central Station. One flash of blue later, I was standing outside the bar, having just gotten off the train, with no memory of the time in between, and drumming pain in my head. I knew that was weird and definitely not a good sign.

But it was okay, because I wasn’t going to take any more GC after this last hit.

I entered the bar and sat in my usual spot. The atmosphere seemed somehow even drearier than before, even darker, as if Tapper had dimmed the lights. I wasn’t about to let it get me down, though. I whistled for Tapper. To my surprise, he didn’t come over right away, despite it being a slow night.

He wiped down a counter a little ways away. When I whistled, he took a deep breath and sighed through his nose. He didn’t even look at me. I got the sense, though, that he wasn’t trying to give me the cold shoulder. He just seemed so reluctant to even acknowledge me, so avoidant, as if being pressed on something he didn’t want to talk about. I actually had to get up and go sit in front of him for him to actually talk to me.

“What’s the problem, sad sack?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be happy to see me.”

Tapper stopped cleaning, took another deep breath, and looked me in the eyes with a sad sort of scrutiny. He asked quietly, “Mavis… is there anything you’d like to say to me?”

My heart skipped a beat.

“...No?”

“Really,” he furrowed his brow. “Nothing at all.”

“I’d…” I trailed off for a second, before pulling out the portrait and placing it in front of him. “I’d like to say ‘Pleasure doing business with you!’”

For a second, he froze in inspection of the portrait, and then sighed harshly. He leaned the heels of his palms wide on the counter’s ledge and nodded at me. “I know, Mavis.”

My insides turned cold, but there was no use fighting or running away. I lied to him in full consciousness, knowing that it would hurt my well-intentioned bartender and business partner that I am very fond of. I made my bed. I make many beds. Sometimes I have to lie in them. 

So I sat down in my metaphorical bed, and lied some more.

I tucked my chin. “Know what?”

“Quit playin’ dumb, kid,” he sneered a bit. “And take off those damn shades. You’re not foolin’ anybody.”

I was genuinely confused. “I’m not wearing shades.”

I flinched as he reached over and, with a single motion, snatched away the aforementioned unusual darkness in the room. The lights hadn’t been dimmed. I had just been wearing shades without even noticing -- surely an embarrassingly amateur attempt at hiding my blue pupils from the public without use of my brush. If I know me, I’d say it was more for the walk to Tapper’s than the actual conversation with him. But I don’t think I would have taken them off before speaking to him, anyway. I think I felt worse about that than I did about actually lying to Tapper in the first place. At least the first time, I gave him enough credit to be a convincing liar. This was just stupid.

“Oh…” I blinked against the light. “‘Kay.”

Tapper leaned his elbow on the counter and squinted at me. Then, he sighed. “Yep. That’s what I thought. It’s dim, but it’s there. You couldn’t even wait for your eyes to fully fade before coming out to look for more.”

I caved. I took a deep breath through my nose, leaned on the counter and started munching out of a nearby bowl of pretzels. “So. How’d you find out?”

“Ralph told me.”

My pupils might have been blue, but I saw red. “He did what.” 

“But he wouldn’t have had to, Mavis, with you showing up like this. The shades, the eyes, the-- the--” he looked at the portrait, grasping for words. “Whatever the hell this is.”

“Excuse me? That’s Fix-it Felix Jr., you dope!”

He just spun the paper around and showed it to me. It was not the image I remember drawing. It looked like it might have been a drawing of Fix-it once, but the lines all got drunk and staggered around the page in cliques. It looked like I drew it with my eyes closed. 

“Wh…”

“It’s over, Mavis. I’m puttin’ this deal on hold.”

I can’t say I was surprised. But I was pretty disappointed. The deal had been a good one -- quick, convenient, and benefitting my favorite bar. But once it was over, my brain didn’t even give me time to be upset. It dove right into figuring out how to get my last hit by other means.

I was quiet for a minute, before popping a pretzel in my mouth. “On hold?”

“My walls still need to be filled. I still like working with you. I still like you, kid,” his eyes faded, “but I should never have given you credits, not right now. I should have known better than to think a promise would keep you clean. Now you’re out there getting high with the credits I gave you. I might as well put poison in your root beer.”

I didn’t know what to say. Nothing he said was untrue. I just looked at him severely, waiting for him to finish.

“Now, listen,” he pointed his index finger against the counter. “You go get help. You go get clean. You process all the stuff you gotta process. You give it time. A lot of time. Then, and only then, can we talk business again. I won’t singlehandedly fund your addiction, Mavis. I can’t be responsible for that.”

Something about that rubbed me the wrong way. I pointed a pretzel at him. “It’s not an addiction. I enjoy it, sure, but I don’t need it. I’m still me. I’ve still got full control of my brain.”

He didn’t look up from cleaning the counter. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Tapper.”

“Then what the hell are you eating, kid?”

“Pretz--” I stopped dead. There was nothing in my hand. There was no bowl on the counter. It’s kind of funny to look back on, but at the time, I got a chill up my spine. It really was worse than I thought. 

I suddenly felt I had to leave. I grabbed my crappy drawing and hopped from the stool. “Alright, well. It was fun while it lasted, Tapper. Seeya round.”

“Mavis.”

I stopped.

“You’re gonna have to swallow your pride. You need to get help. ‘Cause I want you to come back. And if you keep walkin’ down this road,” he paused. “You ain’t comin’ back.”

I just sighed through my nose and started walking. “Yeah, I’ve heard it before.”

Just when I thought he was done, he said loud enough for me to still hear, “What if you heard it from him? What would he say if he saw you like this?”

I’d spent all my lowest hours with a conflicting gratitude that you couldn’t.

I didn’t slow down. I just dragged a faint groan in the deepest part of my throat.

“He’s not the boss of me.”

I saw another flash of blue. Next thing I knew, I was stumbling a bit on bricks. I was in the dump back in my game, and there was an anxious anger boiling in my guts. Wreck-it had made one too many decisions for me. I decided I’d been far too kind to him, I’d shared too much with him. I had to share my feelings one last time. Ugly ones.

I climbed over a small peak, and I saw him. He saw me.

At once, we both yelled, “YOU!”

Then, “ME?!”

He barked, “You dirty little liar!”

I barked, “You big fat narc!”

We advanced on each other, while he growled, “I oughtta whip you across the map!”

“I oughtta stuff your throat with bricks! Why do you keep messing with my life?! It’s none of your Dev-damned business!”

“Oh, it became my business the second you lied to Tapper! I let you stay here just ‘cuz you didn’t want to be alone, I helped you get out there when you were too scared to go, I brought you to see someone who cared about you when you needed it, and what do you do?! You lie to his face so you can go get high! What’s WRONG with you?!”

We stopped just a bit outside of his arm’s reach. I wished so badly that I could fly, so I could float eye-level with him. Having to look up at him sucked.

“I didn’t WANT to go! I wasn’t READY! You dragged me out against my will -- what do you want in return, a freakin’ medal?!”

He gave a full-body eye roll. “No, I don’t want anything! I didn’t want anything! All I wanted was to help! And all you had to do was-- was NOT do exactly what you did! Easy!” 

I seethed. “EASY?!”

“EASY!”

“I have not had,” I grit my teeth, “a second of ‘EASY’ since-- since--” I couldn’t even say it. “You have no idea of the things I’ve been through! You have no freakin’ idea what this is like!”

“Yeah! ‘Cause I’m not allowed to ask about it, remember?!”

“I can guarantee, I can bet my very pixels on it -- if you had to deal with even half of what I have, you’d be blubbering like a 650-pound baby!”

“643!” he spat. “At least I wouldn’t be spinning lies and stuffing my pixels with buffs like you, you little sewer rat!”

“Oh, ho, ho,” I laughed, “That’s just adorable. Buddy, let me tell you -- if you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t have even lasted this long. You’d have gotten us all unplugged.”

“Oh, gimme a break.”

“It’s true! You’d have gone and corrupted a long time ago! If you had to deal with HALF of what I have!”

An upset look sparked in his eye for a second, but he quickly countered, “No, see, that wouldn’t happen, because unlike you, I don’t make my own therapy with-- with--” he gestured sharply, “I’unno, substances.”

“Oh, I see. So, the fact that you go to Tapper’s every single night’s got nothin’ to do with that, huh?”

He clenched his fists. “Don’t even start. I go to Tapper’s because I like talkin’ to Tapper.”

“No, you’re nursing something,” I gave a sickly-sweet smile and took a half-step forward, and I saw his foot twitch back. “You’re drowning some sorrows. What are they, huh? You sad? You lonely? You want things you know you can’t have? You want to change things that can’t be changed?”

“No,” he growled.

“Yeah,” I nodded, knowing I’d struck emotional gold. “You feel trapped.”

“No,” he grit his teeth. “I don’t.”

“Yes, you do!” I laughed, just about ready to derail and completely unhinge. “Everyone does! Because, guess what? We are. All we do is chase things that make us feel like we’re not. And you know what the cheapest, most reliable escape is? Intoxicants.”

“Stop it.”

“So let’s just cut the crap,” I marched forward, and he shuffled back, “If you had nothing, absolutely nothing to bring you joy anymore other than your drink, and you had to lie to get it, you’d lie a million times! You wouldn’t even bother with Tapper if he didn’t pour out your sweet medicine so you can lap it up like the thirsty boozehound you are!”

I just barely dodged his fist.

He roared and slammed his huge meaty cudgels again and again, and I weaved and jumped and slipped out of the way. It was almost the same routine as ever, but his rage was like nothing I’d seen in him before. I grabbed a brick and sprung up to crack it on his head -- I succeeded, but pain stabbed into my brain when I tried to launch from his shoulders. I tumbled against his arm and spilled down onto the bricks. I tried to push up, but the pain in my head held me down. The binary in my eyes crackled away just in time for me to see him standing over me, both fists raised, fire in his eyes.

I just closed my eyes and braced for impact.

It didn’t come. When I looked again, his arms were down, and he was checking me over in a distasteful sort of way, like I was a machine that mysteriously stopped working. I guess he was disturbed to see my usually impressive acrobatics reduced to... that. His chest heaved with anger, but he was clearly pulling the reins.

“Look,” he said quietly, raising his index finger, “let me make one thing perfectly clear: I told Tapper… for Tapper. I brought you out to see Tapper… for Tapper. I like Tapper. I wanted to help him. And I wanted you outta my home. ‘Cause you and I,” he gestured between us, “are not friends. I didn’t even want to get mixed up with you in the first place, and I shouldn’t have. ‘Cause clearly, I wasted my time. You don’t wanna get better. You just wanna keep using everyone, right? You love that. Especially now that everyone feels sorry for you. They think you’re some kinda… kinda tragic poster child for addiction. Well, guess what? I don’t. I think you’re a shady lil’ double-crosser who has no problem taking advantage of sprites who love her. And then you act like you only did what anyone else would have done. Like everyone shares your crappy worldview, or whatever. Listen -- yeah, I do drink when I go to Tapper’s. But, newsflash, not every sprite who drinks is as miserable as you are.”

He kicked a splash of bricks over me, and they hit like a barrage of punches. Then he turned to leave me lying there, calling back as he disappeared over a rise: “Now get out of my home. And stay out.”

I didn’t. Not right away. I just stayed there, lying against the bricks, waiting for my headache and the pain of the brick shower to fade. And, I’ll admit, I felt like crap. Not for what I’d done, exactly. Just for where I was. How I’d gotten there. What drove me to that point. What I was like before all this. Wreck-it was right about one thing: I was miserable. But I wasn’t always.

There were nights where my nonexistent sleeping schedule would keep me awake while you slept. I’d lie there remembering my first nights in the woods, with the sharp grass and the cold baths and newfound loneliness. And then I’d look at where I ended up, safe in a soft bed kept toasty warm by the relentless heat of your body next to me. And I’d just feel so happy over how far I’d come.

The cold, hard bricks under my bruised body were a far cry from where I’d been with you.

For a while, I lied there alone, trying so hard to banish thoughts of those nights from my head. They were so far above me by then. I didn’t want to look up and see how far I’d fallen. 

After a decent wait, the pain in my head clenched enough to flash me down to the bottom of the bricks. I wasn’t sure if I lost time or just warped. A second later, I flashed into Game Central. 

It wasn’t remarkably busy. The atmosphere felt pretty safe, relative to how it had been. For the first time in a while, it felt safer than my game. So I wandered aimlessly. I sat on the benches, I paced, I watched one of those weird dragons from Joust fly by and wished I could chase it. My brain just flooded with nagging thoughts of how I would obtain that last hit of GC. They grew more insistent by the hour, but I was mostly coming up short. Normally, I would hunt the buffs down myself, but I didn’t feel ready to venture into other games again, not other than for meeting my one dealer. But I had nothing to offer her anymore. I was stuck. As my body began to shake, withdrawal approaching fast, I knew I had to come up with something quick.

So many times, I’d lose a chunk of time and find myself sitting on a bench in front of where your game used to be, staring down the dead, black hall. I’m not entirely sure why. I obsessed over the emptiness of it. The wrongness. It hurt so badly to look, but you know when you get a tooth knocked out and your tongue won’t stop running over the empty spot, even though it just makes you bleed more? It was kind of like that. 

I could see wandering sprites looking at me. Of course they did. They didn’t like what they saw, either -- supposed accomplice of mass murder looking at where the murderer himself used to live? Definitely drew some glances. Most were just morbidly curious, it seemed, as if waiting for me to lose it. Others glared and shook their heads, making angry gestures in conversation with their friends. But the last category really caught my eye. A good amount of them showed anxiety. Some watched, wide-eyed. Some exchanged worried whispers. Some even tried to hurry off to their games inconspicuously. At first, I marveled at how stupid they all were. I wondered what it would take to get it through their thick heads that I genuinely had no interest in hurting anyone. I wondered if it would even be worth the headache. But then, something dawned on me.

I’ve always been a master at working with what I’ve got. If I couldn’t soothe their fear, I could at least make it work for me.

[jack-kellys]

it’s fizz, with another fic, another au. idea lowkey stolen from the lovely @vioislit, but she has input don’t worry :)

anyhow

———————

“super” broke

words: 1.2k

warnings: cursing, pain description, passing out...yes that’s all

—————

Jack

Jack didn’t actually like being late.

Crew was supposed to be at tech way before the actors, and yet here Jack was, earning a disappointed glare from his stage manager. Especially as her ASM, assistant stage manager, he should be ten minutes earlier.

Another thing Jack didn’t like- or understand, really: why was he, a design major, assigned to assistant manage again? He could’ve helped design this whole set instead of attending rehearsals and taking notes and all the damn reading he had to do and the organizing and piles of paperwork… Well. Maybe he was assigned this to reorganize himself, actually. God knew he’d been wildly caught up in...himself.

Jack had reason, of course. It wasn’t some self-absorbed thing (for once, Spot would say). He was genuinely busy outside of Shakespeare In Love—he had semester courses that were finishing up and finals were damn near literally creeping up his asshole, he swore. He had an entire art project to do that in actuality would have taken him two months...if he didn’t have only two weeks to do it.

Jack groaned inwardly as he set up his laptop backstage, nabbing his printed pre-show list to start checking things off around the area. He was used to burying himself, but lately the soil felt suffocating. The show—which had turned out to be much bigger than anticipated—his classes, upcoming finals, and...y’know.

The whole superpower thing.

Back in September, when Jack was working a play and running the lighting board, he’d been alone on headset and bored. He hadn’t learned much about sound design yet, so of course he was messing around. The spotlights weren’t up on the catwalk yet, their PSM wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and no one’s voice was crackling over the headset. Jack was idly turning dials on the soundboard as a result. Because Jack—and he knew this—was an idiot, he turned one of the many colored dials way up to one side. He’d done it before to a few different dials and nothing had happened, so he figured ...Wrong. He figured really fucking wrong.

A piercing sound struck horizontally in his skull, like it's lightning-bolt points were stabbing through his brain and out of his ears. His hands lost feeling and he tried to cry out, eyes squeezed shut, though he could only emit a small gasp of agony. Honestly, Jack couldn’t feel much of anything with the blinding pain at the forefront of his nerve endings. He knew his knees were to the ground now, he sure as hell wasn’t standing with his legs heavy as lead. It wouldn’t end, it seemed, the pain still as powerful as it was initially. If his hands decided to be useful, they could switch off the dial, or take off his headset, but for now, they were set on feebly attempting to protect himself. For some reason, he’d stuck his hands out and away, like the pain source was right in front of him.

Then, the brain-burning feeling dropped away, and Jack carefully opened his eyes to find a slightly opaque blue forcefield surrounding him like a bubble. He shifted to one side, and the blue moved with him. He sat up, and it adjusted. Jack broke out into an astonished grin. How the fuck had he gotten a forcefield from a sound board? Not like he cared how he got them—all that mattered was that he could make a forcefield with his fucking hands and that was the coolest shit he’d ever seen.

So that was the whole ‘superpowers thing.’

Since that day, Jack had been experimenting with himself, hence why everything else was becoming even more heavy on Jack’s back. He couldn’t help but dedicate real time to figuring out this random new ability. Homework kind of took a backseat to mysterious abilities.

Jack would find himself a private area in between classes—secluded enough not to simply be found but reasonable enough to not look sketchy—and just concentrate. Envision the blue around himself as he held up his hands, eyes scrunched closed. Picture its shade, a stark and royal blue, but still able to see right through it.

“Jack.”

The pulse of something so close to being emitted from his palms.

“Jack.”

Feel the zap of energy between his ears, somewhere deep in his brain-

“Jack FUCKING Kelly! You in there?”

His gaze finally focused back in with a gasp. Someone was whapping his cheek.

Oh, god. Right. Shakespeare. Shit. He was still standing backstage, and was apparently staring at nothing.

“Hi Sarah, um,” Jack chuckled sheepishly to his stage manager. “I, uh...dissociation’s a bitch, huh?”

Sarah Jacobs frowned. “Technically true,” she muttered. “Just get back to it. Actors are called in twenty, so make sure your side’s all set up.”

“Thank you, twenty,” Jack sighed with a smile as her boots padded away. Thank God he was on her good side. Sarah was one of the toughest seniors Jack had ever come across. Her glare could probably cut straight through a freshman’s heart.

Jack had finished setting in only ten minutes, about to decide to help the other ASM when something blinked out above him and a loud “SHIIIIIT, Jesus…” called from the back of the house.

“Oh God, Spot, what happened?” Jack groaned, glancing up towards the lights as he came center stage. A whole line of them had gone out. Shit. “The hell did you do, man?”

“Whatever it is, you’re dealin’ with it!” Spot yelled back. “I’m going over cues in three minutes. You figure it out, Kelly.”

He was on Sarah’s good side. Not Spot’s, despite he and Jack being in the same grade and shared many classes together.

“Fucking….fine.” At least it would give him something to do.

Jack’s investigation led him outside, unfortunately. He shivered against the cold as he checked the power box, only understanding what about half of the switches meant. Conlon never gave him a damn break, did he.

A gust of wind blew through him, making him shake like a damn leaf in addition. Fuck Spot rights, Jack decided spitefully.

“Uh, hello- hi?”

Jack paused, turning around to see leaves swirling in the air still as well as a curly-haired kid staring at him with wide eyes. He looked freaked.

Jack’s lips pursed, hand coming up to gesture.

“Did you…” Jack pointed to the kid, then in the direction the leaves were blowing.

“Yeah,” the kid nodded hesitantly, “I was running-“

“You were running?” Jack scoffed, surprised. “And it created a damn windstorm?”

“Well, yeah, what’s it look like?” The kid shrugged, taking a few steps closer to Jack. “Maybe don’t...tell anyone, okay?”

He looked rather vulnerable, eyes shifting around their surroundings in search of other possible witnesses. A pang of sympathy struck Jack’s heart, he couldn’t help it.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Jack smiled. “I’m Jack. You can trust me, I promise.”

Jack watched the guy breathe out a small sigh. “I’m Anthony,” he smiled slightly, sticking out his hand. “And thanks.”

Jack’s smile grew. “Nah, nah, I get it. Gotta keep your identity secret, and all’a that.” He shook the kid’s hand as Anthony let out a small laugh.

Something white and hot zig-zagged up Jack’s arm at the contact. He felt his whole body nearly vibrate, and then he blacked out. This really wasn’t Jack’s goddamn day. ——————

of course the first thing I write is gonna be a series, because I hate making life easy please tell me if you don’t wanna be on my tag list anymore! or if you wanna be on it! it’s been a few months heh :) just message me I don’t bite

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