#how. is this not excruciatingly simple logic?

[amplexadversary]

*sigh*

someone here failed the child empathy challenge today >_>

one of my family members used to work at a school and wanted my help making little goodie bags of halloween candy because we like to know how many kids to expect each year

problem is, this family member mentioned wanting to hand each kid a baggie, and when I pointed out that hey, maybe that would come off as kind of lame to the kids, they tend to prefer being able to pick their treat themselves, maybe we should just present the basket of little baggies and say "take one?" (the bags are see-through). the response I got was "well that's kind of insulting to me, personally, because I came up with the idea to hand them out."

and I'm just sitting here thinking "seriously??? you're usually one of the reasonable ones. Why settle for 'good enough' when you can make the kids happier with exactly zero extra effort on any of our parts?" <_<

Like, a huge thing kids don't tend to like is adults who need to have everything "just so." Kids like a little chaos, they like a big tub of things they can choose from, and they like to have as many limited instances of being able to pick literally anything for themselves as they can, because nearly everything in their lives is decided for them.

I'm not even going to go into the pushback on "maybe we should have a few 'allergy-free' bags in the mix so that kids can choose a bag that they can eat everything out of'' - actually fuck it I am. To that I got "well those kids' parents will take the candy they can't eat'' That is not the point? The point is that those kids effectively get less candy? Don't go on to me about equality and then snub equity in the same breath ffs (╯‵□′)╯︵┻━┻

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Ecstasy

Summary: Percy Jackson’s lotus flowers meet sex pollen (Natasha Romanoff x female reader)

Warnings: shameless smut (18+)

Her eyes are a starry sky.

Her smile is the death of me.

Her laughter is a lullaby.

But her kiss is unmatched ecstasy.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. In and out. Home before bedtime.

But then the waiters passed out little flower shaped cookies, and you begged your best friend to try one with you. She finally caved, and they were so good that you just had to have another. And maybe a few more after that.

By the time you realized the cookies might have had something in them, your mind was too hazy to care. Because Natasha’s body was but a few inches from yours, swaying to the thundering music with a glint in her eyes that made your stomach tighten.

Since the first cookie, a simmering heat had been building in your abdomen, amplified tenfold by the woman in front of you. Judging by the pink of her cheeks and the tilt of her lips, you thought that just maybe she was feeling it too.

By the time she pulled you closer mid-song and you both moaned at the simple touch, you knew where the night was going. A fog clouded your mind, blocking out every inhibition and logical thought that told you to not sleep with the woman you had fallen for so long ago.

Natasha giggled like a schoolgirl as she ran her hands through your hair, and you soon followed suit, both of you laughing in the middle of the dance floor like nobody else was around.

You were both far too gone to care.

“You’re so beautiful, Natasha,” you whispered.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked.

You nodded and then her lips were on yours, her arms around your neck and your hands on her waist.

Your senses were dulled, but her essence sparked them back to life. There was nothing but the smell of her sweet vanilla perfume, the taste of her red lipstick, the feel of her hands, and the sound of her sighs.

She slipped her tongue into your mouth, and a sharp wave of arousal ignited in your stomach. It was excruciatingly painful, how much you wanted her. You would’ve taken her right there in the middle of the casino, had it not been for her hand dragging you away.

Your heartbeat fluttered against your chest and your clothes felt uncomfortable against your skin, but the way Natasha’s hips swayed in front of you as she walked had you quickly forgetting everything else.

The world around you blurred, tunnel vision focused on her and only her. She led you through the club, running into people and bumping the door on the way out.

Outside, the only thing to be heard was heavy breathing and wild heartbeats. Eventually you found the car. Natasha unlocked it and shoved you in the backseat, quickly scrambling after you and straddling your lap.

“It hurts,” you whined.

“I know,” she said, and you knew then that she was feeling the same hot pain of overwhelming arousal.

“Something’s not right,” you added.

“I know,” she said again. “But I don’t care. I want you. Do you want this?”

You nodded dumbly. “Yes. Please, Nat. I need you.”

Her lips were on yours, hot and heavy. With a fleeting thought, you broke the kiss and leaned forward to finally close the car door and seal yourselves in your own little world.

The windows quickly fogged up as she kissed you roughly, grinding mercilessly down into your lap. You assisted her movements with your hands on her hips.

Your heartbeat felt way too fast as you trailed sloppy kisses down her sweaty neck, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. If you were to die right then and there, well, you thought that would be just fine.

“Fuck, detka, I’m gonna—”

It didn’t take long for Natasha to reach her first orgasm, the climax built by nothing but the movements on your lap.

To your own surprise, your orgasm fluttered and exploded inside you right after hers, the sound of her pretty moans too much to bear.

The relief didn’t last long, however. Another painful wave of arousal crashed into you almost immediately. “Oh fuck,” she whined.

“What was in those cookies?”

“I don’t know but right now I don’t care,” she muttered, her hips resuming their movements.

Your hands gripped the bottom of her dress, looking to her for permission. When she gave it, you hiked up the short black number to reveal a lace thong underneath. “Fingers,” she breathed.

You looked up at her with awe, studying the sweat on her brow and the pants leaving her mouth. Your fingers ran along her ruined underwear, causing her breath to stutter. “Don’t be a fucking tease.”

“Yes ma’am.” You pushed her underwear aside and slipped a finger inside. “God, you’re so wet, Nat.”

“More,” she panted.

You ran your thumb over her clit, slipping a second finger inside. Her hips jerked. She began rocking in time with your movements, forming a rhythm of lewd noises and breathy moans.

You did your best to ignore the fiery ache between your legs, focusing desperately on your fingers curling inside Natasha.

She came once more with a silent scream. She kissed you sloppily before sinking down to her knees as best as she could in the cramped backseat.

She hastily unbuttoned your pants, tugging them and your underwear down your legs at once. The cool air hit your center and you realized just how wet you were.

“Fuck,” she said once before leaning in. She licked a strip up your pussy and you let out a choppy groan.

“Shit, Nat,” you breathed as she flicked her tongue over your clit. “Just like that, please.”

You fell apart within moments, screaming Natasha’s name like a prayer, over and over.

She kissed up your still-clothed torso, finally landing on your lips and letting you taste yourself on her tongue.

“We need to get out of here. I need room to fuck you properly,” she said against your lips.

“Nat, we can’t drive like this.”

“Would you rather get arrested for having sex in this car?”

She handed you the keys and let you drive. You did your best to focus on the road, but the way she was shifting in her seat and clenching her thighs was far too distracting.

“Fuck, Nat, you’re killing me.”

You readjusted in your seat, fighting desperately to ignore the painful arousal.

“Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Fuck, I need you. Now.”

She took your right hand and guided it between her legs. Your left tightened on the steering wheel.

“Holy shit. I’m gonna fucking come from this alone,” you mumbled desperately. The arousal grew rapidly and you shifted once more as your fingers worked tirelessly between Nat’s legs.

You felt her clench around you as she threw her head back in ecstasy. When you pulled your fingers out, she grabbed your wrist and sucked your fingers into her mouth, holding eye contact relentlessly.

You swallowed a moan, fighting to turn your eyes back to the road.

The ten minute drive to your apartment felt like ten hours. You parked like shit and all but ran into the building.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Natasha pushed you into the wall, kissing you with fervor. Her lips trailed over your jaw and down your neck, pulling moans from your throat as she left bruises in her wake.

“All mine,” she murmured against the column of your throat.

“All yours,” you panted.

The metal doors slid open with a ding and you stumbled out towards your apartment. You tried to find the right key, but Natasha was kissing your neck and your hands were shaking violently.

The key finally turned in the lock and the two of you practically fell into the apartment.

“Bedroom.”

You picked her up and brought her to it, laying her down on the bed. You crawled over her, laying your hands on her stomach. “Can I take this off?”

She nodded yes and helped you remove the dress from her body.

You ducked your head and began leaving marks on her chest. She squirmed impatiently underneath you. “What did I say about teasing,” she warned.

“Another time, then,” you obliged. Neither of you were coherent enough to acknowledge your mention of doing this again.

You took a stiff nipple into your mouth, swirling your mouth around it to draw out a soft sigh. You pinched and rolled the other between your fingers. You switched to give them equal attention.

As content as you would have been to stay there all night, she eventually pushed your head lower. You trailed kisses down her stomach and over her thighs before pausing where she wanted you most.

Your breath ghosted over those ruined lace panties as you looked up at her. You held the eye contact as you placed a kiss over her clothed clit. She groaned and tangled a hand in your hair.

“Detka, fuck me. Now. Please.”

You smirked before tearing her thong off and diving into her wetness. She twitched and clenched around your tongue as your hands held her steady against you.

A river of Russian came spewing from her mouth, doing nothing to stop the arousal soaking through your pants.

When she came this time, it was anything but silent. Your name fell from her mouth like it was the last thing she would ever get to say, and the moans that bounced off the walls ensured a noise complaint the next day.

You crawled up her body and when she opened her eyes, you knew you were far from done. With stupid, drug-induced grins on both of your faces, she asked if you had a strap. You nodded in a trance.

And then she was riding you. Gripping your headboard with white knuckles and leaving nasty red scratches on your back. The way the strap hit your clit with every thrust had you panting and moaning alongside her.

“Cum with me, dorogoy.”

And you did. You did your best to keep your rhythm as you both rode out your orgasms.

Your foreheads fell against one another. Heavy breathing filled the hot room.

“Does it still hurt?” She asked.

“Not as much,” you answered.

“‘S still foggy,” she slurred. You nodded in agreement.

Your eyes caught sight of the alarm clock beside your bed. You squinted to try and read it.

05:42

“Holy shit. Nat, how long were we in the casino?”

“Um, an hour maybe?”

“Nat, it’s almost six in the morning. I know we haven’t been fucking that long.”

“Oh my god. What the fuck were those cookies? Oh god. Fury probably thinks we’re dead.”

You moved to stand up, but the moan that tumbled from Natasha’s lips reminded you of the strap still inside her.

When your eyes met hers and you saw those lust blown pupils, every logical thought went out the window once more.

“Fury can wait,” you muttered as you slowly began rocking your hips again.

“Fury can wait,” Natasha repeated before her hand wrapped around your throat and brought your lips to hers.

When Fury and a team of agents broke down the door three hours later and found Natasha kneeling before you in the shower, you realized your mistake.

At least until Natasha looked him square in the eye and said “Lotus flowers produce sex pollen. Get out.”

It took all day for the effects to wear off, and Fury left the two of you alone to sort it out.

Natasha kissed you at the end of the day and said “We should do this again sometime.”

You kissed her back and said “We should do this again all the time. But maybe without the drugs.”

[airas-story]

PR Perils

“How bad was it?” Tony asked.

Stephen was currently sitting at Tony’s table, head buried in his arms, and a glass of Tony’s best alcohol—thus far untouched, but it looked like a matter of time—resting next to him.

“Oh, it was bad.”

Or at least that was what Tony thought Stephen said. The muffling nature of his current position made it difficult to be certain.

“Did you drop anyone through a portal?” Tony asked. Stephen had been asked—ordered—by Wong to give an interview with the press to help ease Kamar Taj’s transition into the spotlight. Stephen had not been a fan of the idea, but he was more used to publicity after the acclaim he’d had in the medical field than most of the other sorcerers.

Stephen lifted his head enough to glare at Tony. “No, Tony. I didn’t drop anyone through a portal.” The words came out scathing, as though Stephen couldn’t conceive of why Tony would assume such a thing from him.

Which, really, if Stephen didn’t want people to wonder if he was going to drop people through portals, he should stop talking about how much he wanted to drop the people that annoyed him through portals.

Simple logic, there.

“So, what’s the problem?” Tony asked as he came up to take the seat next to Stephen at the table.

“They asked me if we were a cult.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I told you they would.”

“We’re not a cult! We’re not a high control, abusive group with a unified belief system that isolates its members from society!”

“I know,” Tony said calmly. “But people look at anything that’s different and try to demonize it. Calling it a cult was low-hanging fruit. I’m not surprised the press went for it. Did you rip them apart?”

“Excruciatingly.”

Tony nodded. “Good. They deserved it. So what’s with the whole…” He gestured at the cup of alcohol and Stephen’s general disposition. “That.”

“They asked me what I thought of the fact that I was a superhero fan favorite.”

Tony nodded. “You are, there’s some great art of you out there.” Tony was honestly thinking of hiring some of them. There was some serious talent out there.

Stephen actually smiled a little at that, but it faded quickly. “Then they asked me what I thought of the fact that you were a superhero fan favorite.”

“I am,” Tony said. It had actually taken Tony by surprise. He was used to the public loving to hate him. The public actually loving him? That was weird. “I hope you were very complimentary to me.”

Stephen made a so-so gesture. “I said I wasn’t surprised.”

Good enough for Tony. “So? I assume at some point this gets worse. That’s all pretty mild.”

Stephen sighed. “They asked me when we were getting married.”

Tony blinked at him. “As far as the press should know, we’re not even dating.” They’d been very careful about that, and Tony knew they hadn’t messed up. Between Stephen’s magic and Tony’s tech skills, there was absolutely no evidence to be found of the two of them.

Stephen nodded. “I know. I didn’t, apparently, properly express that they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“How did you express it?” The press could be very persnickety about word choice. It was far too easy to accidentally say something that they’d later dissect to mean something else entirely.

“I told them it wasn’t their business what was going on with the two of us.”

“Oh.” Not good. “That, Stephen, that’s like giving bloodhounds our scent. They’re going to take that as us having something to hide. You have, in one sentence, convinced everyone that we are in the midst of a torrid love affair.”

“So I have been made aware.”

Suddenly the alcohol made so much more sense. Tony sort of wanted some himself. Life was about to be so much more difficult than it needed to be.

There went their beloved secrecy.

“Did Kamar Taj at least get good press out of this?”

Stephen made a pained face. “Yes. Wong’s made me our official ‘Face of Public Relations’.”

“Was that because he actually thinks you’re the best for the job or because he’s enjoying making you suffer?” With Wong, it really could go either way.

“The second.” Stephen glared at him. “And it’s your fault. Wong said he hired those PR specialists you recommended him. Apparently, they think I’m ‘workable’.”

Tony laughed. “You poor soul.”

“Workable, Tony. That’s not even a compliment.”

It really wasn’t. “At least you’re going to stay a fan favorite?”

“I hate you.” 

Tony gave him a condescending pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Stephen. It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

Stephen grabbed his glass of alcohol and downed it. “Oh, I really hate you.”

Tony grinned. “According to the press, you love me. Who do you think I’m going to believe?”

Stephen’s glare was particularly spectacular.

[mjrkime]

I love TES series. Especially Morrowind, Oblivion and Skyrim.

Cyrodiil is comfy. Almost fairytale-like.

Warning: a long and unreasonably emotional post about a videogame

I always find myself being quite bitter whilst coming back to TES IV: Oblivion despite being overall nostalgic. Morrowing felt different and it still does. The emotional baggage that I have for TES III usually relates to my unbearable wish for an escapism which this title provided. Yet, TES IV has a significant flavour to it.

The home of pristinely clean streets, white towers, wine and beautiful pastoral scenery, it hides and nourishes bloody cults, horrific murderers, undercover intrigues and tragedies. Vvanderfell is grey and it's grey in every sense of the way. The morals, the people, the story. It's hard to be and feel heroic when you find yourself amidst a thousand years-long intrigue. Skyrim is bloody. It shows its guts to you because it can. It wants you to bathe in blood while crossing this cold and harsh land.

Oblivion doesn't want you to bathe in blood, it doesn't throw you into the web of intrigues. It gives you a simple story about a hero who finds themselves at the end of the old man's wish. Emperor Uriel Septim gives you his amulet before his inevitable demise. And after that it just goes as it always does.

Cyrodiil hides its very essence under everyone's nose. It pretends to be an idyllic place. In fact, I can absolutely feel the need to slow down and take a stroll through the beautiful cities. Together with the soundtrack, the atmosphere brings you a taste of Tamika's fine wine. Going through the vast landscapes I felt like I finally understood why sometimes we just need to stop and just stare at the sky while the sun sets. Everything feels perfect But it's oh so far away from being perfect. There's, in fact, a necromancer living under that hill. A dangerous cult of ritualistic murderers prospers under the guise of Night Mother, housing their cozy hideout in the middle of the city. A menacing entity is plotting against the mages guild, the mercenaries and bandits watch the roads, thieves are spreading their curiosity amidst the city streets. There are dark mysteries in the ancient ruins and ugly secrets among the people of Cyrodiil. The daedra shrines await their chosen puppet to fulfill their sinister purposes. Also, there's a gate to the literal daedra hellish realm right there.

The realm of Mehrunes Dagon feels like a cruel joke, an attraction in the house of horrors. There are spikes everywhere, the small islands of soil are surrounded by lava, the blood of countless victims soaks the walls of menacing towers and even the damn flora wants to murder you. It mocks the heavenly peaceful land of Cyrodiil perfectly.

What's that? Oh, a sudden realisation.

Cyrodiil seems... Stereotypical. Oae wae!

But the stereotype or not, I quite enjoy this heroic fairytale which is, in fact way darker than it may seem at first.

Every time I come back to this land I can feel the underlying bitter sweet feeling. I know and love these characters, this story and this land. But also I know how each string ends. And it hurts. Sitting in front of Martin while he reads inside the Cloud Ruler Temple, training next to Agronak in the Arena, resting and enjoying the stay inside the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. It all brings me as much misery as it does joy, because I KNOW that the ending is inevitable. I might delay it, I might never become a Champion of Cyrodiil, Arena Grand Champion or a Speaker, but it's only a fool's relief. Reading the interpretation of what might've happened to the Hero of Cyrodiil, honestly clicks to me. In my mind, my protagonist lost a good chunk of people she cared about no matter where she tried to go and what she tried to do. Strolling through Cyrodiil after the main plot always felt excruciatingly lonely and bitter. It's only logical that she would lose herself to a maddening corruption.

Every time I ride through the Colovian Highlands or stroll through the Nibenay Valley, I feel at ease and comfortable. But something inside me aches and feels like crying. Alone.

P.S. I know this feels too melancholic and d33p for a game that's basically a meme now, but I'm a person who cherishes videogame experiences way more than the real ones. Also I can't deny the emotional baggage that I have attached to it. However, I genuinely think that people kind of forgot how nice it felt to play this game. The memes are funny, yes, but I genuinely feel that the province of Cyrodiil holds way more depth than just that.

[kenyatta]

Cut ups | Brion Gysin

The cut-up method is best-known as a literary technique in which a written text is cut up and rearranged to create a new text.

“The method is simple. Here is one way to do it. Take a page. Like this page. Now cut down the middle and cross the middle.

“You have four sections: 1 2 3 4 . . . one two three four.

“Now rearrange the sections placing section four with section one and section two with section three. And you have a new page. Sometimes it says much the same thing. Sometimes something quite different—cutting up political speeches is an interesting exercise—in any case you will find that it says something and something quite definite.”

Reading the notes in the reblogs on that Metafilter ChatGPT comment is making me realize how important that Stephen Wolfram post on “What ChatGPT is Doing and Why Does It Work” is:

the remarkable thing is that when ChatGPT does something like write an essay what it’s essentially doing is just asking over and over again “given the text so far, what should the next word be?”—and each time adding a word.

It’s also made me realize that it all has a lot in common, at least technically or spiritually, with the cut up method of Brion Gysin where you cut up a page of literary text and rearrange it to make new work.

Here is William S. Burroughs’ on the cut up method:

Cut ups are for everyone. Any body can make cut ups. It is experimental in the sense of being something to do. Right here write now. Not something to talk and argue about. Greek philosophers assumed logically that an object twice as heavy as another object would fall twice as fast. It did not occur to them to push the two objects off the table and see how they fall. Cut the words and see how they fall. Shakespeare Rimbaud live in their words. Cut the word lines and you will hear their voices. Cut ups often come through as code messages with special meaning for the cutter. Table tapping? Perhaps. Certainly an improvement on the usual deplorable performance of contacted poets through a medium. Rimbaud announces himself to be followed by some excruciatingly bad poetry. Cutting Rimbaud's words and you are assured of good poetry at least if not personal appearance.

All writing is in fact cut ups. A collage of words read heard overhead. What else? Use of scissors renders the process explicit and subject to extension and variation. Clear classical prose can be composed entirely of rearranged cut ups. Cutting and rearranging a page of written words introduces a new dimension into writing enabling the writer to turn images in cineramic variation. Images shift sense under the scissors smell images to sound sight to sound sound to kinesthetic. This is where Rimbaud was going with his color of vowels. And his "systematic derangement of the senses." The place of roescaline hallucination: seeing colors tasting sounds smelling forms.

And here is some of that text after it has been cut up into sections and rearranged. (Tell me that it doesn’t feel like a “conversation” with ChatGPT):

ALL WRITING IS IN FACT CUT UPS OF GAMES AND ECONOMIC BEHAVIOR OVERHEARD? WHAT ELSE? ASSUME THAT THE WORST HAS HAPPENED EXPLICIT AND SUBJECT TO STRATEGY IS AT SOME POINT CLASSICAL PROSE. CUTTING AND REARRANGING FACTOR YOUR OPPONENT WILL GAIN INTRODUCES A NEW DIMENSION YOUR STRATEGY. HOW MANY DISCOVERIES SOUND TO KINESTHETIC? WE CAN NOW PRODUCE ACCIDENT TO HIS COLOR OF VOWELS. AND NEW DIMENSION TO FILMS CUT THE SENSES. THE PLACE OF SAND. GAMBLING SCENES ALL TIMES COLORS TASTING SOUNDS SMELL STREETS OF THE WORLD. WHEN YOU CAN HAVE THE BET ALL: "POETRY IS FOR EVERYONE" DOCTOR NEUMAN IN A COLLAGE OF WORDS READ HEARD INTRODUCED THE CUT UP SCISSORS RENDERS THE PROCESS GAME AND MILITARY STRATEGY, VARIATION CLEAR AND ACT ACCORDINGLY. IF YOU POSED ENTIRELY OF REARRANGED CUT DETERMINED BY RANDOM A PAGE OF WRITTEN WORDS NO ADVANTAGE FROM KNOWING INTO WRITER PREDICT THE MOVE. THE CUT VARIATION IMAGES SHIFT SENSE ADVANTAGE IN PROCESSING TO SOUND SIGHT TO SOUND. HAVE BEEN MADE BY ACCIDENT IS WHERE RIMBAUD WAS GOING WITH ORDER THE CUT UPS COULD "SYSTEMATIC DERANGEMENT" OF THE GAMBLING SCENE IN WITH A TEA HALLUCINATION: SEEING AND PLACES. CUT BACK. CUT FORMS. REARRANGE THE WORD AND IMAGE TO OTHER FIELDS THAN WRITING.

[howtofightwrite]

Hello. I don't know if this belongs here but y'all know about weapons so maybe you've got ideas?

I'm writing a fantasy story that's got some anachronistic elements but it leans towards futuristic or modern. However I have characters using swords even though logically they should be using firearms. There's no lack of technology or resources limiting them from using guns so how can I explain the absence? What makes it trickier is certain firearm/projectile weapons do exist, like an arm cannon that shoots fire.

How can I make this work without implementing a system like the character job classes you find in RPGs?

Thanks!

So, the problem here is that firearms are, in their design, incredibly simple. At the simplest level, a firearm is just capping a tube, dropping something "chemically energetic" in, adding a projectile, and igniting the propellent.

If you have a setting with reasonably functional metallurgy, and flamethrowers, you have guns.

If you have a setting with the internal combustion engine, you have guns, because it is the exact same method of power generation, the only differences are in the chemicals used and the ignition method. After that, there is a difference in how the power is channeled and used, but they operate on the same intermingling of physics and chemistry.

This gets even worse when you start digging into chemistry. Gunpowder has been around for over a thousand years. The development of very basic powders came from the use of sulfur and potassium nitrate in early alchemical experiments. While modern accelerants are quite sophisticated, basic black powder can easily be produced with bronze age technology. In fact, it is easier to make gunpowder than a gun barrel that can withstand the resulting pressure.

Now, you might have guns that look very different from what we're used to. Moving beyond a basic 14th century handcanon, there is a lot of iterative technology that has gone into firearms. Being able to open the breach, prepackaged cartridges, barrel rifling and replaceable magazines, are all quite modern innovations. We've had the gun for nearly a millennia, but those are (mostly) less than two centuries old.

How can I make this work without implementing a system like the character job classes you find in RPGs?

This would not work. I trust we're all familiar with that scene from Indiana Jones. The problem with the firearm is it effectively negates other weapon options. In RPG terms, it hard counters nearly every non-gun build.

It doesn't matter if your ageless swordsman has spent a thousand years studying the blade, they can't stop a bullet, and very few people can continue to operate after you've pumped a couple rounds through them.

So, here's where things get a bit more complicated. In fantasy you may have enemies who simply aren't susceptible to gunshots. Vampires and Werewolves are the normal urban fantasy examples, though there's certainly options for things like golems, demons, and other flavors of undead to simply not care about bullets at all. This is before you get into edge cases that might not be susceptible for other reasons, such as mages who are able to cast effective shields against gunfire, and creatures such as dragons who are supernaturally resistant to injury. I mean, if you're going to go hunting dragons, taking a Glock is a phenomenally poor choice.

This leads to another possibility that probably shouldn't be overlooked: Gun control. Just because the M82 exists, doesn't mean you can get your hands on one. Even in the US, getting your hands on military hardware such as automatic firearms is prohibitively difficult and expensive. It's not difficult to envision a society where even access to handguns is excruciatingly difficult. I say it's not hard, because there are real-world examples like Japan or the UK, where private firearm ownership is excruciatingly difficult. Ironically, both Japan and the UK also heavily regulate possession of ammunition (not, only the firearm itself.)

Something that flies in the face of a lot of popular fantasy literature is how foundational the firearm is in our technological history. I don't mean the effects of the gun, that caused massive sociopolitical changes, but how the technology itself contributed to overall technological advancement. Something that can be deceptively difficult when writing a fantasy setting, is understanding how one technological innovation lead to another, and the rather startling way that all of this advanced science as a whole.

You may also want to check out this article on warmages from a couple years ago, as it covers a few concepts I skipped over for this post.

-Starke

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[lilac-5ky]

Takasugi College Roommate AU

A/N: There is an excruciatingly small amount of AUs about Gintama, especially when it comes to best boy Shinsuke. I had this random idea come to me and before I knew it, my own thirst guided me to write it! The theme is quite simple, an innocent cohabitation leading to not so innocent thoughts which in return lead to, well, smut.

Warning: This is a pure THIRST fic, don't get fooled by the extensive "prologue" leading to the main course. It's full on smut and about sexual feelings, seduction, yada, yada, yada.

Getting yourself into college, you’d have never considered that you’d end up sharing a flat with a roommate, let alone a guy on top of that. Yet, certain circumstances had pushed you to it, and before you knew it, you were out there, checking ad after ad, hoping that you wouldn’t run into any scammers or weirdos, for that matter. And this is how you met Takasugi Shinsuke, the guy who’d become your roommate.

Takasugi was a guy you’d never encountered on campus, despite him claiming that he’d spotted you at college grounds before. You were a freshman while he was a junior, his major being one of the biggest mysteries about him. The first time you tried to ask him about it, he’d brushed you off with a smirk, merely walking ahead of you while showing you around.

His apartment was close enough to the campus and a steal compared to the rent you’d be forced to pay, should you opt for one of the other choices. Even if he didn’t seem like the most talkative guy, even if he frankly seemed a bit shady, you knew that there was nowhere else to go, and thus, your cohabitation began.

At first, the two of you barely interacted, the words you’d exchange on a daily basis consisting of ‘hi’, 'good morning’ and 'bye’. Your schedules pretty much never overlapped, with him being at home when you were in class, and vice versa. There was no real chance for the two of you to sit around and share as much as a cup of coffee, yet you couldn’t complain. The house was always clean and he never gave you a reason to argue with him. Even if oftentimes it felt like living with a ghost, there was no denying it, he was the perfect roommate.

And so, for such a perfect roommate, you ended up falling. It was something you hadn’t planned, something that barely made any sense. You knew next to nothing about him, and he didn’t seem too interested in knowing you either. Most likely, a combination of physical attraction and thirst clouded your judgment, causing you to disregard any hint of logic residing within your brain. It was so hopeless and nonsensical that, while you wanted to get rid of such unnecessary feelings, nothing could stop you from going the extra mile.

For starters, there was that time you stalled giving him the rent money, just so that he could come ask for it himself. You were lying flat on your stomach inside your room, your legs crossed, waiting for him.You knew he was home, and so, you opted for a pair of shorts, one that revealed your legs and thighs to him. If he was going to be visiting you, then the least you could do was look pretty for him.

However, much to your disappointment, he seemed to be paying no attention to you. Even when you walked over to him to hand him the bills, he still disregarded you, simply spewing a 'thanks’ before walking out the door.

After that incident, you were beyond disheartened, yet you had no intention of giving up. You weren’t even sure what you hoped to achieve, but even then, you couldn’t hold back. You wanted him to see you, you wanted him to look at you the way you looked at him. Takasugi was the kind of guy who’d managed to completely entice you, despite not trying at all. Yes, perhaps it made little sense. Perhaps what drew you to him was as simple as his dashing looks, but if that was the case, you had all the more reason to pursue him. As long as you could get it out of your system, then things could go back to normal.

If you were to earn the attention of someone as unapproachable and disinterested, you had to somehow step up your game. Operation 'seducing your roommate" has officially commenced!

Thankfully, with the beginning of the second semester, your schedules started to overlap quite a lot, a gift from the heavens, really. Most days, he’d be back by late afternoon, with your final class for the day ending right before noon, giving you the chance to set things up before he returned home.

To begin with, rather than spending your evenings locked in your room, you’d start to watch TV in the living room. Each time you did, you made sure to wear your tightest clothes, conveniently sitting in a way that gave him the perfect view. Whether he was an ass, tits, or thighs kinda guy, you had no idea, and so, each time you’d reveal another piece of you. From short skirts, to 'forgetting’ to put on a bra, you had done it all, to no avail. Takasugi would glance at you, acknowledging your existence in the space, before moving to his own room. Part of you hated that you were doing all this for such an ignorant guy, but if you were to be honest, the way he ignored you was enough to turn you on even more. You weren’t about to give up like this.

The next thing you tried, was 'oh so clumsily’ getting your panties-yes, the expensive lacy ones- tangled up with his laundry. That was bound to entice him, right? You couldn’t go wrong with that, right? Yet somehow, he once again proved to you that he was a tough target. There was no way a guy could deliver you your own underwear as if it was nothing, but then again, Takasugi was no ordinary guy. His green eyes barely batted when you took your panties from his hands, meekly spelling out a 'sorry, won’t happen again, roomie’. Another failure.

By that point, you were getting real desperate. It wasn’t as if you’d previously had mad success when it came to seducing people, but, after having tried just about every trick in the playbook, there was nothing more to be done. Perhaps he had a girlfriend. Someone as good looking as he was, is bound to attract the attention of women left and right. Believing that he was single was a stupid thought to begin with. But then again, if he had a girlfriend, then wouldn’t he bring her over or something? Or at least spend some actual time with her? No, maybe that wasn’t it. Perhaps the answer to your question was much simpler; perhaps he... just wasn't that into you.

This particular thought began to weigh you down, putting a halt to your efforts. Even if you stripped naked before him, he’d probably brush you over, if not offer you a blanket to cover up. Such was his indifference, that he left you with no other choice than to give up. At least for the time being.

On a day when you’d felt your hopes and dreams absolutely shattered, you decided to rummage through the kitchen in search of ice cream. Or anything sweet, really.

It was a quarter past ten, and as far as you were concerned, Takasugi wasn’t home, which was odd for him, but you weren’t about to over think it. yes you were Tiptoeing, your hands reached out to the freezer above your head, pulling out an assortment of frozen vegetables before you finally spotted it; the final pint of chocolate Baagen Dash. Victory!

As you were about to drag it outside, you started to face resistance. Some leftover water had turned into ice around it, keeping it entombed in the depths of the freezer. You pulled at it harder, grunting while doing your best to keep your legs on the ground, until you felt the hold of the ice subduing. Yet, it was too early to celebrate. The second you managed to get it out, you felt the earth moving under your feet, a shriek escaping your lips as you braced yourself for your fall, a fall that never came.

A pair of arms got wrapped around your waist, stabilizing you right before your head could hit the floor. You looked up, feeling your own heart pumping from the scare, a feeling that only increased when you realized that the one who was holding you was none other than Takasugi himself.

For a second, you found yourself getting lost in his eyes, repeatedly blinking in disbelief with your lips parting in awe. His hands had never done as much as shake yours, but now, these very hands of his were touching your body. His warmth, his closeness, things you had previously only been able to imagine, were right there, driving the heat to rise to your cheeks. You’ve had all these lewd thoughts about him, but now that it was actually him, that he was actually there, you were at a loss.

"Is that my ice cream?" Even his voice felt dreamy, a sound you had been so deprived of.

"Yes." You answered without really processing what you had just said. No matter what he asked you in such a moment, the only answer you could give him was 'yes’.

"Hmph." He scoffed, his gaze traveling to the freezer and the ice that was poking from the open door. "You wanted it that much?"

'The ice cream or you’ was something that you’d like to reply to him, but rather than doing so, you just nodded, a notion that earned you a smirk.

"You want to share?" He was asking all these pointless questions with such poise, while you were quite literally melting around his fingertips.

Another nod.

"And what will you do for me if I share?"

"Anything." Perhaps giving such a response wasn’t particularly wise or smart coming from you. However, it wasn’t wrong either. There was nothing you wouldn’t do to get yourself in his pants, or more like, the other way around.

Takasugi chuckled softly, lifting you back to your own feet, before walking towards the drawer. Your mind was circling, frantic thoughts running through your mind. The primary concern was regarding you, namely, the way you looked.

Considering how you’d decided to give up on your little seduction operation, you hadn’t tended to your appearance at all. You were wearing nothing but a plain old baggy t-shirt, one that was long enough to conceal your thighs, though not in the most flattering way. Your hair was up in a messy bun, while this time, you had actually forgotten to wear a bra. Speaking of undergarments, you’d die to know that the kind of panties you had selected, were one of the more childish choices in your wardrobe; pink with small white bunnies. Goddamn it, the one time he’d chosen to show up, you completely blew it.

"Here." He broke through your thoughts, handing you a spoon. You were so distracted that for a second, you were unsure what it was for, barely remembering that the reason for your random encounter had been no other than your sweet tooth.

Takasugi was still half-smiling as he made his way to the living room, taking a seat by the couch, with you trailing behind him. He sat in the middle of the cushions, leaving you no choice but to sit beside him, perhaps a bit too close for your own wellbeing.

He took hold of the remote, going through the channels before settling for a random game show. You wouldn’t take him for the kind of guy who liked watching such things, but then again, the things you didn’t know about him outnumbered the ones you did.

The two of you waited a good five minutes for the ice cream to melt down a bit, watching the program in utter silence. His eyes were set on the TV, while yours kept darting between his face and the spoon in your hands. This was as awkward as you’d imagine it to be. Still, you were thankful to be sitting so close to him, to be taking in his beautiful image. It had somehow made all of your previous failed interactions with each other worthwhile.

"You can have some now." Takasugi said, extending the pint to your side.

You took it in your hands, digging your spoon right in. Mhm chocolate, can never go wrong with that. Closing your eyes, you sighed in delight. You really were in need of something sweet, after all.

"You like it that much?" He asked, gesturing for you to hand it back.

"Ice cream is the perfect way to solve your issues."

"Hmm? I disagree. " He responded, shoving a spoonful of it inside his mouth. "The perfect way to solve your issues is by dealing with them."

He wasn’t wrong, but then again, you had reached such a point because you were unable to deal with him in the first place.

"You can’t always deal with things, you know."

"Wrong, once again."

"Then, how should you deal with something that is hard to handle?"

"Something or... someone?" He asked, handing you back the ice cream. There was a hint of suggestion in his voice, one that made you consider whether he knew more about your 'issue’ than he’d been letting on.

Swirling your tongue around the spoon, you contemplated your choices for a moment. He wasn’t looking at you, but that didn’t make things any easier for you. Lying wasn’t your best suit. Even if you said 'something’, he’d see past that. However, if you said 'someone’, who knew where that’d lead?

"Perhaps it's someone," you paused to look at him, only to find him staring back. "Who knows." That’s right. Boldness was always the way to go.

Takasugi smirked yet again, accepting the ice cream back in his hands with his attention fixed on you. "Does that someone know you are pining over them?"

"Hmm... that could be the case. But then again, they’ve been nothing but indifferent towards me. Perhaps I’ve lost my charms. " You joked with a shrug.

"I find that hard to believe. Have you tried telling them? "

Telling... them? As in, telling him that you’d like him to fuck your brains out? Now that was something you hadn’t considered doing. Surely you could be as promiscuous as you wanted in front of him, but stating what you wanted him to do to you was another story. It was shameful, especially when considering you weren’t that close at all.

"N-no... I haven't. "

"Then," He placed the pint on top of the coffee table. "How about you try that with me? If you can tell me, you can certainly tell them. "

If you were an anime character, this would be the kind of scene where you’d be getting an intense nosebleed and, as far as you were concerned, this was actually real life.

You gulped hard, trying to suppress your own nerves while momentarily glancing at the TV. It was turned off, a fact that you had only just considered. As his eyes pierced yours, the room fell silent, the atmosphere becoming heavier than before. He was making it so hard for you, that once again, you couldn’t help but wonder whether he was actually using your own plot against you.

"Mind if I speak as if you were that person?" He shook his head, ushering you to keep on going. Here goes nothing.

"You are the hottest person I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. Just looking at you gets my panties all drenched up. Every night, I close my eyes while touching myself, dreaming that you are the one touching me, calling out your name while doing so. You've been driving me insane nearly ever since I met you. One moment I’m happy and then next moment I’m sad, waiting for you to throw me a single bone or... really, just bone me. Fuck, you have no idea how much I long for you to hold me down, using every hole in my body until I can’t do anything other than scream your name at the top of my lungs."

By the time you finished your little speech, you felt surprisingly relieved, though recalling all of those thoughts was enough to get you riled up, even in the slightest.

Takasugi listened to you without interrupting or reacting in any way.He leaned towards the table, digging his spoon inside the pint and then curling his lips around it, seemingly undisturbed by what you had just suggested. Whether he knew or didn’t, you couldn’t tell.

Before you could do as much as question him about it, you felt his breath falling on top of your lips, nullifying the distance between you at once.

You gasped in surprise while he took advantage of it, sliding his tongue right past your lips, a cold yet sweet sensation taking over. Sheepishly, you closed your eyes, allowing him to swirl his tongue around yours, realizing that said sweetness had been nothing but chocolate. The cream melted inside your mouth, while you sucked on his tongue as if it were a piece of candy, unable to help your own whimpers. It felt just like a dream.

However, every dream must come to an end. Just as the ice cream had dissolved, he pulled away from you, the thin string of saliva that connected you two following his lips, as he set himself back against the couch. Even when the kiss had lasted no more than a couple of seconds, you were left utterly breathless.

While you were trying to process what had just happened, Takasugi brought the pint onto his lap, casually throwing spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. One would assume that he shared the sentiment, considering how he’d kissed you right after your impromptu confession, yet the way he was acting right now suggested otherwise. His eyes were glued to the TV, ignoring the fact that the screen was devoid of both color and sound.

"Takasugi?"

"Hmm?"

"What was that all about?"

"Problem solving." He sternly replied, placing the now empty box on the table. "You wanted to share some, didn’t you?" So that was what he was referring to. He certainly had a funny idea of sharing his belongings.

"Then... what about the things I shared?"

"I never realized my roommate had been this sexually deviant before." He sneered, attempting to earn a reaction from you, which he did.

"That’s not true, I’m only like that around you!" By the time you realized what you had just blurted out, it was too late. Even if there was a chance he didn’t know, now he definitely knew. "I mean..."

"What will you do for me?"

"Huh?" Your eyes widened involuntarily.

"You said you’d do anything if I gave you some ice cream. That has me wondering, what will you do for me if I kiss you right now? "

There was no telling whether he was joking or not. After all, you didn’t know him that well to be able to understand his cues. Despite his words, he remained perfectly calm as he looked into your eyes. There was no lust, just a set of emeralds that held your reflection within them.

You licked your lips by pressing them together, considering his offer for a minute. It was true that you had promised him a vague ‘anything’ earlier when he’d asked you about the ice cream. Yet, what more was there for you to give him?

"One week of laundry?" You entertained the idea, something he didn’t seem to oppose either.

Smiling at you, Takasugi moved closer, his one hand landing on top of your chin with the other sliding around your waist. Tipping your head to the side, he dragged his thumb across your skin, guiding you to open your mouth for him. He leaned closer, his lips hovering above yours, a bait to test your own impatience. You couldn’t believe this was about to happen.

His eyes darted to yours as he glanced at you from between his eyelashes. He was having too much fun with it, relishing the expression on your face before finally pressing his lips against yours.

It felt different than it did last time, a welcoming warmth cushioning you the second he touched you. Despite the initial lack of emotion, the way he kissed you was full of passion as his tongue claimed yours, slowly exploring the depths of your mouth bit by bit. A lingering sweetness remained etched in his lips, making them all the more addictive. Tilting your head, you attempted to catch as much of his taste as possible when he pulled you onto him, forcing you to full-on straddle his lap. You sighed against his lips as he tightened the hold on your waist, feeling his knee fall right between your thighs.

"What will you do if I kiss you" He breathed, briefly pulling away from you. "there?"

Chills went up your spine the second he came into contact with your skin, his lips settling right below your ear. "O-one week of cleaning your room?"

Takasugi nodded, his tongue lulling out of his mouth while he teased you with his teeth, gently nibbling on you. Closing your eyes, you threw your head to the side, using your hands to support yourself against his shoulders. He kept pulling at you, your forehead bumping onto the couch as he kept on going, leaving a lazy trail of bite marks down to your neck.

Biting down on your lip, you couldn't help but grind your body against him, your wetness spreading onto the fabric of his pants, as you desperately sought some sort of friction. Although you had supposedly resigned from your pursuit, only minutes before you had left your room, you had been touching yourself to the thought of him, a fact that left you rather restless and sensitive when it came down to having the real deal before you. He had yet to touch you where you wanted him to, but even so, his lips felt better than every climax his thought had given you.

"Take off your shirt." Only when you heard his voice, did you realize how rough your breathing had gotten, to the point of you heaving onto his shoulder.

Obeying his order, you sat up against him, tossing the shirt off your body at once. Even if he never did as much as glance your way whenever you wore your skimpy little outfits, he was definitely looking right now, his eyes unable to steer away from your bare chest. Dragging a hand to it, his fingers wrapped around your hardened nipple, gently squeezing at it. An involuntary moan escaped your lips, realizing how all your messing around with each other had caused a tent to rise in his pants, his hard on poking directly at you.

Takasugi smirked, his palm kneading your tit while his fingers remained around your nipple. He squeezed harder, watching your every reaction carefully before lowering his head closer to your other breast. "What will you do if I kiss you there?" He asked, his tongue ghosting your nipple.

"Uh... I... One week of cooking your meals?" Truth was, you were a lousy cook, but when it came to him? You had no issue becoming his little obedient housewife as long as he gave you what you wanted.

Accepting your offer once again, you felt his lips curling around your nipple, sucking onto it without even interrupting the pace of his hand. His eyes were locked with yours, the occasional smile resurfacing on his lips whenever you did so much as to make a sound. It felt so good that all you wanted to do was stuff your hand right past your underwear, touching yourself to the sight of him. You were so needy that everything he did felt like the sweetest form of torture, constantly feeding into your desire. 

No matter how indifferent he had once been, there was no denying it. He wanted this as much as you did. You could tell as much by the way he kept clinging onto your waist, catching him roll his hips into yours from time to time.

Suddenly, he pulled his hand away from you along with his mouth, a disheveled look on his hair while he smiled at you, the kind of smile that made you swoon. He looked more attractive than he'd ever looked before.

"Sit next to me." He instructed and you followed, sitting right beside him.

Takasugi got up as well, briefly standing in front of you before getting to his knees. Pulling at your legs, he spread them apart, gaining access to your throbbing cunt. He tilted his head in amusement, his fingers tugging at the elastic band of your underwear and then letting go. "Cute." His observation reminded you of your embarrassing choice of undergarment, though it was too late to be acting shy.

Moving his head right between your thighs, you felt his hot breath falling onto your dampened panties, your anticipation forcing you to hold your own breath. It took every bit of self restrain not to close your legs around him and let your hips take control.

"You weren't lying about being soaked." He noted. "What will you do if I kiss you there?" This time he didn't do as much as wait for an answer, diving right in.

You flinched away, gasping the second you felt his tongue rolling over your clothed clit. "F-fuck I'll..." Takasugi paused, glancing up at you with his parted lips, a rather innocent look on his face while he awaited for your proposal. "One week worth of rent?"

As expected, he was content with your suggestion. Relaxing a bit, you let him take hold of your body, his fingers keeping your thighs spread for him with his tongue circling your clit. His saliva along with your own fluids had seeped through the fabric of your underwear, allowing you to feel everything he was doing. From the way he flicked his tongue, to the way he probed your entrance ever so slightly with it. Everything he did felt so good, too good, that before you knew it, you were calling out to him, deliriously begging him to fuck you.

"You taste sweet. No need to change our living arrangement over this. Get up." Takasugi commanded you as he took hold of your hand.

You let him lead you to the side of the couch, positioning yourself between the furniture's arm and his own body. Letting go of your hand, he brought his hands onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he spun you around. Your back fell against his chest while his chin moved on top of your shoulder. Although this wasn't the closest you had been, being unable to face him only added to your excitement.

"Bend over."

You didn't need to hear it twice, immediately lowering yourself over the arm, your cheek melding with the cushions. It felt rather uncomfortable though you couldn't care less, not when you were finally about to get what you craved for.

Takasugi moved his hands away from you, the sound of a zipper echoing from behind. You couldn't see what he was doing, though surely enough, you felt something other than his hands pressing onto your butt. Once again, you found yourself holding your own breath, your heartbeat reverberating from your chest onto the couch.

He leaned closer to you, his cock directly poking at your entrance when his chest hit your back. Placing a singular peck on your nape, you heard his voice ringing into your ears. "What will you do if I fuck you?"

There was no way to possibly answer his question. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, even rent, you had covered every possible thing he could ask of you. There was nothing more you could give him, a fact that made you feel rather nervous while he awaited your reply. What if he backed away now, what if-

"Forget it, I wanna see for myself."

Before you could even open your mouth, he brought his hands back down to your hips, sliding your underwear out of the way for his cock to enter. A loud moan fell from your lips the second he pushed his way in, ramming himself as deep inside of you as he could. You dug your nails at the couch, unable to do anything other than cry out for him as he begun to fuck into you.

He was so rough, relentless even, thrusting into you over and over again with such ease. You were so wet for him that each time he went in and out, you could hear the sound of your own cunt, a lewd sound only second to the ones you were inducing with your mouth.

"I don't hear any screaming." He observed, his voice nearly going unregistered, fading behind the screeching of the couch.

"T-ta... Takasugi!" You called out his name, another whimper breaking it in half while he kept on plunging your insides, completely unaffected. The more you cried for him, the harder he went, the knot inside your stomach increasingly tightening.

"Good girl. Now... turn around. " He pulled out of you, taking a step back in order to allow you to move.

Your brain could barely register his order, your body instinctively moving on its own, mindlessly seeking contact. He still had his clothes on, the only exposed part of him being his lower body, with his briefs and pants clinging onto his ankles. It was inevitable that you take a look at him, your eyes sheepishly staring at his cock. The tip looked painfully red, glistening with precum and your own wetness. So yummy, so delicious that all you wanted to do was suck him dry.

"You said you wanted me to use your every hole, right?" He cooed, sliding his finger between your folds in an attempt to get it all nice and wet. "Well... Even when you are flooding, I doubt you could take it. So how about we do this? "

He didn't give you a chance to ask what 'this' was, trailing a path with his slicked index all the way to your ass, shoving it about half way in without a warning. The feeling felt foreign to you, an unknown sensation that you didn't particularly dislike. Anal had always seemed enticing to you whenever you watched porn, even when this wasn't quite like it.

Probing your hole, he slowly pushed it further inside while keeping an eye out for your reactions. Though this alone didn't do much for you, the second Takasugi went back to filling you with his cock, you were unable to hold back a shriek. Everything was all of a sudden intensified and soon, you found yourself overwhelmed by the stimulation, making it feel as if you were about to lose your mind. There was nowhere for you to hold onto, your nails digging into the pillows while your lower body uncontrollably squirmed and clenched around him. Whatever he was doing, was enough to break you.

For the first time, you heard a strangled sound coming from him, one that resembled more of a grunt than a moan. His thrusts fell slightly out of tempo while your walls kept sucking him in, closing down around his twitching cock that begged to stay buried deep within you. The harder he slammed his hips into yours, the harder it was for him to pull out, slowly losing himself in the moment. 

Even so, he was better than you were at keeping his composure, his finger moving in sync with his hips without any interruptions.

The feeling was out of this world, unlike anything you had experienced. It didn't take long for you to writhe in pleasure. The way his cock repeatedly hit your sweet spot, along with the way his finger kept fucking you, left you with no other choice but to come for him, tremors of ecstasy washing you ashore.

Even after he pulled out of you, you were unable to control your own body, your legs trembling as they dangled over the couch's arm. You looked like a lifeless doll, your limbs feeling like lead that only weighed you down. It had been so long since you'd gotten fucked like this, so long that you couldn't even remember what the last time had been like. You were drunk on his cock, so intoxicated that when he sat down on the couch, asking you to kneel before him, all you could do was oblige.

Sinking to your knees, you came face to face with his swollen tip. You had only just realized that, after all this, he had kept himself from spilling his seed inside of you, most likely holding on just so that he could have you gobble his cum up. After all, you were the one who had asked him to make use of all your holes. It was only right for him to properly grant your request.

While you kept looking at him, you came to understand that focusing on the task at hand might turn out to be harder than you'd originally thought, especially in your state. Your mind was hazy, your vision blurry, your body preoccupied with riding down your high. Takasugi hadn't even given you a chance to recover, when he brought his hand down, catching a fistful of your hair between his knuckles. Even if this was once about you, that wasn't the case anymore and he made sure you knew that. Guiding your lips to his cock, you had no choice but to open your mouth, allowing him to shove himself right in.

You could taste the sour taste of his precum along with your tangy essence, a delightful taste that had you running your tongue over his length again and again in an attempt to savor it. Takasugi sighed, letting you move at your own rhythm, though he was unable to refrain from bucking his hips into your mouth from time to time. He kept his grip on you, watching intently as you swallowed his cock, his length disappearing between your pretty lips, a sight to behold.

The more he kept on watching you, the more you felt like putting on a show, drooling and moaning all over him. His attention was all you wanted and now that you had it, you made sure to keep him entertained. With one hand, you held onto the base of his shaft, bobbing your head up and down as seductively as you could, though unavoidably, at a languid pace. 

It felt almost intimate like that, staring into each other's eyes while you pleasured him. Perhaps it wasn't all pure lust or perhaps sex was clouding your thoughts yet again. Either way, looking at him, you couldn't help but think that you wanted more. Not right now, no, you were too exhausted for that. But maybe one day, you could do more things together, like watching movies together, dining together, or even properly going on a date with one another. That'd be quite nice.

Despite your thoughts, you jumped back into reality when his cock began to twitch between your hollowed cheeks. That's right, having such thoughts when he was balls deep in your mouth was probably not the greatest idea.

Tightening the grip on his base, you moved faster, forcing yourself to forsake your tiredness. You could feel his fingers tense around your hair, urging you to keep on going. He was close, his accelerated breathing revealing as much. Hooking your tongue right below his tip, you kept flicking it upwards, your hand continuously working around his length until, at last, he shot his load inside your mouth, warm ropes of cum hitting the back of your throat. It was so much that while you tried to swallow all of it, you still found yourself chocking, a stream of saliva and cum dripping down your chin onto your chest.

Takasugi kept you in place, relishing the spectacle before him. You inhaled sharply, tears poking the corners of your eyes with his cock still throbbing in you. There was no telling who had the better view: he, who seemed to be thriving in your fucked up expressions, knowing he'd fucked you silly, or you, who seemed enchanted by the tranquility in his expression. Either way, it didn't really matter.

You were the first to let go, finally catching your breath, unable to keep your lips shut while you gasped for air. Takasugi, whose fingers were still tangled up in your hair, patted your head softly, a reward for your good job. A gentle smile had softened his features while he peered at you, his indifference and cold exterior having melted at once. This was an image of him you'd never seen before, one that you definitely wished to see again. His smiles, his rewards, his compliments... you selfishly wanted to keep all of them to yourself.

Once your breathing grew stable, he scooted over, letting you sit beside him.

"Laundry, cleaning, and cooking... seems like a fair deal, but we have yet to establish what I get for tending to your sweet tooth." His voice came out raspy after being quiet for so long. Tilting your head, you caught a glimpse of him as he eyed your lips. "What will you do for me?"

"Wh-what do you want?"

Takasugi leaned closer, resting his palm on top of your thigh, repeatedly rubbing at your soft skin without diverting his focus from your eyes.

"Share your body with me. As long as you can be of free use, I'm willing to tend to more of your... needs. "

And so, operation seducing your hot roommate proved to be a success.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Maxson x F! Sentinel

(Got this little idea from a friend)

"Sir, there's something I need to bring to your attention."

Captain Cade's words ears fell on unreceptive ears. This type of thing happens, it always does in this particular line of work. Soldiers are shot, burned, maimed..killed..with each mission. Each mission HE sent them on. Arthur was no fool nor was he by any means an optimist, casualties no matter how painful were just a matter of life.

He knew the risks. He knew them damn well and yet he still sent you out.

Why shouldn't he? You are the best of the best of his troop. You are his sentinel. The woman who made the Institution's demise a possibility. The woman that trained and rallied some his very own troops. The woman who was damn near a living legend. The woman who made him soften up...and also the woman who honored him more than any rank ever could when she agreed to marry him and take his name. 

Unconsciously the young Elder took your limp left hand in his and ran his thumb across the metal adorning your finger, wiping the dried blood and debris from the physical symbol of your unity. Just the mere action was almost good enough to inspire a tear to swell.

Just an awful hour or so ago he received word that the Sentinel was being urgently flown back from combat. Communications wouldn't elaborate further, only that the matter was urgent. One could only imagine the way his stomach dropped when that message was relayed. He had only sent you on what was by all means a simple retrieval of tech..it shouldn't have been anything considerably dangerous.

All logical explanations flew off the deck when you had arrived. Your power armour was crushed, your beautiful face covered in dirt and dried blood..your lip split and bruised and your entire body battered. To make matters worse on the Elder, apparently you had lost consciousness sometime during the flight back..most likely due to a head injury according to some of the scribes who recalled your helmet quite literally being wretched off your armour.

The moments following your arrival felt like an eternity. Between a team of soldiers prying the remnants of your armour off to Cade stabilizing you..it was hard, excruciatingly so for Arthur. Nevertheless he wouldn't have dared left your side no matter how much he was encouraged to. Not even now as he stands by your cot, refusing to let go of your hand with one of his whilst the other occupies itself with fixing your hair away from your face.

"...Elder, I hate to keep interrupting but there really is something you should know." The Doctor once again tried to rouse the Elder's attention- almost regretting the attempt when he saw the way Arthur's shoulders tensed.

Arthur let out a long, shaky sigh from his nose as a vain attempt to compose himself. Finally, with the rhythmic beeping of the monitor cutting through the silence, Arthur dignified Cade. "What is it, Captain?" He spoke curtly, just hardly looking over his shoulder.

However what he saw nearly made him turn all the way around. There Cade was..grinning like a man gone wild. Surely he had to have taken leave of his senses, this was no time to be jovial for anyone. More so, such an expression certainly wasn't welcomed by Arthur who was on the verge of tears.

Before the elder could puff up and lose his patience, Cade came closer and cleared his throat. "Don't worry Arthur..she's going to be alright. Her body is just exhausted and trying to heal." He began. "As for what I needed to say...well, I was looking over some of the results from the Sentinel's blood work and noticed something peculiar.." "With all due respect Captain, please get to the point." "Yes sir. I don't know how else to say it but..Congratulations."

Now that really took Arthur aback.

He gently placed down your hand at your side and spun on his heels. Eyes furrowed into sharp icy daggers and his jaw nearly clenched, Arthur turned to Cade fully now. "What could possibly warrant being congratulated?" He grumbled, growing ever more so annoyed with the happy smile Cade wore.

"Judging by the levels of hCG I found in The Sentinel's blood, she's pregnant. Undoubtedly in the early stages, but pregnant nonetheless.”

It was as though Cade had dumped a bucket of iced water over his head in that moment. It couldn't be so. The two of you had tried so hard to conceive with no luck for months now. It had gotten to a point where hope was slowly ebbing away.  Yet here you were. Broken and battered and unconscious..but also carrying his baby.

Now a whole new wave of emotions hit over Arthur as the very worst came to mind. With the type of injuries you had sustained, there was no way a pregnancy- especially not so early- could've survived. Finally, Arthur felt the warm dribbles of silent tears running down his cheeks when he turned his face away from Cade and back to you.

How could he have been so careless with you? Duty or not, this was inexcusable. His heart felt as though it had been replaced with a wet bag of sand, the very floor seemed to sway like an ocean under his feet.

Sensing the Elder’s anguish, Cade interjected. "Arthur, I can assure you..despite her injuries I have no reason to suspect she has miscarried. I already plan to follow up for certainty when she wakes up.." Thankfully, after he had spoke Cade had finally decided to leave the very distraught Arthur in peace.

"Listen.." Arthur spoke with his voice weak and hands shaking. "I promise you from this point on, nothing dangerous. I can't risk losing you..." Arthur then placed his shaking hand over your bandaged abdomen, lowering it until he rested over where he imagined your little one was growing.  "Either one of you."

The amount of joy he felt the next day when he found out his baby and his precious wife were both okay and going to heal was astronomical. No victory felt sweeter.

[bored-storyteller]

Oh my, thank you!  Thanks for bringing this to me, I love Sally Face! It's one of my favorite indie games ever! I really hope it meets your expectations.

NOTES: I imagined the more adult Sal, but beyond that there are no other references to the timeline of the original story, except some canonical episodes mentioned.

34- Sally Face - Sal Fisher x Reader

"You can see me"

With a last glance at the clock, you quickly close the water bottle, at the same time grabbing the full glass in the same hand that you also hold the medicine box.

You're pretty sure you find Sal in his room, probably bent over his guitar. Surely it is for that reason that he has not paid attention to his therapy.

It doesn't happen often, in fact, it rarely happens that you have to rush to his rescue, nor do you really like doing it. You don't know how he really feels about it.

Knowing where he keeps his medicines and knowing when he has to take them doesn't make you two a couple. Not even living under the same roof makes you a couple - especially if you are not alone - nor does sharing the same room often and willingly.

In fact, even though someone often mistakes you for two young lovers, you don't really know what Sal thinks of you. As close as you feel him, you are not sure that he feels as close to you; on the other hand, he doesn't seem to share the same kind of intimacy with you that he shares with Larry or Ashley, or at least that's what you think.

Besides, you've never seen his face.

Yours is a purely selfish thought, and you are ashamed of it, but you cannot command feelings.

You know that the first time Larry saw his best friend's face was an accident, with Ash instead, she was the one who took the initiative. In neither case was Sal's will to make him show himself. Yet, despite this deep down, inside you, something stung excruciatingly.

When your friend had lifted his mask, Sal that time was not angry at the intrusiveness - as perhaps you would have done -, nor had he tried to escape later. It is logically normal that he now has less trouble showing himself around them. Sweet Sal, always so loving, so perfect.

You shouldn't feel offended. You know well that for Sal the prosthesis he wears is in effect his face, so it's not that he wants to hide from you, you are simply already seeing him.

Yet you know that under that face another is hidden, however much it may be disfigured. You can't pretend it isn't.

That slight annoyance you have repeatedly tried to ignore has slowly grown, but only now have you dared to call it by name. Because you like Sal. You really like him. And when you have understood this, when you have found the strength to admit it to yourself, everything is put in the right place; the joys, the jealousies you felt and feel… and also that desire to see him, to see beyond, to really see him.

But you'll never force on him for it. As simple as it would be to lift that mask to him with an excuse, you will never force him to show himself to you, even if you die with the regret of never having seen him. It's not the same, it's not the face you want to see, it's the trust you want him to give you. But you can't expect it, and you know it.

You could live with this obsession that has become so present in recent weeks that you can hardly forget it. Maybe it's just your mind that doesn't want to focus on your duties, and then it always wanders to him, aimlessly.

"What is Sal's face like?"

You asked Larry one day without realizing it. You didn't really know what you were doing with him, you just know that for a moment your brain was shut down, and when you woke up you whispered that question.

The astonished look of your friend had poured into you a flood of emotions so sudden that they almost made you cry for no reason: you felt guilty, selfish, reckless, stupid, meddlesome and terribly fragile.

You immediately lowered your gaze to protect yourself, muttering an "sorry, forget it" but never would have canceled that damn question. You thought Larry might misjudge you for that, but instead his big hand pulled you to him, ruffling your hair affectionately, saying nothing.

He seemed to have understood more than you hoped for, yet ...

You shake your head and your hand tightens on the glass of water. You knock on the door and softly call Sal's name.

"Yes?"

His answer comes a few seconds later and you feel safe in opening the door slowly.

It's not exactly what you imagined; he is sitting on the bed, his legs stretched out on the mattress and his back resting against the headboard. The guitar is stored in the case, but in his hands he holds a book with a dark cover.

His kind gaze meets you beyond that face that is always the same. It's amazing how expressive that guy can be under that stiff mask. That damn mask. That lovely mask.

"You didn't take them, did you?"

You ask softly as you lift the medicines to show them. Your voice is cracked against your will, and you're praying he didn't notice.

"Oh ..." his eyes snap to the clock hanging on the wall "thanks, I was completely forgetting about it."

His voice is soft, almost cheerful. He is not bothered by your gesture, or he is very good at hiding it.

You watch him get up to go to the bedside table where you put what he needed. You don't pay much attention to it, you just sit on the bed, picking up the book he was reading, making sure you keep your thumb between the pages, so as not to lose the mark he left.

You read the title and a few lines of the presentation absently. You're just trying to buy time with him, and you know it.

You hear it as he handles the pill box and plastic, and hear the rattle of the straps as they unfasten to release his mouth.

You don't watch it, you're used to the process and now, despite you insisting on staying there, you don't really want to watch it.

You don't understand much about the book, you just know it's about music.

"Do you like it?"

You ask, trying to give a semblance of normality.

"Enough ... actually I'm just at the beginning."

You just nod, not really being able to continue the conversation. Your head feels too full confused, but extremely empty at the same time, and you don't know why.

"Hey ... is everything okay?"

His voice makes you jump, as if he has stung you with a needle. Such a simple question, but you suddenly feel discovered, as if he has just proved he can read your mind. As if you were obliged to tell him the truth.

"Yup!"

You exclaim immediately, and without realizing your head jerks towards him, as if you wanted to assure him of the truthfulness of your words.

You don't notice it right away. You see only his blue eyes for a moment, he is looking at you with concern, more than he should.

At first you wonder if your attitude really is that troubling, but then you start to focus.

His hand trembles slightly around the glass of water, and out of the corner of your eye you can see his mask lying on his pillow.

He swallows the medicine by throwing his head back slightly, perhaps to take a break from your gaze, or to escape a little from the agitation, the fear he is having.

Sal, Sal's face. You are seeing him, free from his hiding place, while he drinks.

Surely he is disfigured, excruciatingly deformed. It's not just a few scratches, it's more, it's a real pain, yet you don't notice it.

Again, this is Sal. You're really seeing Sal's face, the face you've always loved, beyond the mask, like his mask.

He sits next to you, he's trying to act naturally, you see him, but you still see his fingers shaking against the cardboard as he puts the tablet away in the box. He did it for you.

Emotions explode in your chest and you don't bother holding them back. There is no time for any misunderstandings. You are free with him, you always have been, you don't know how you forgot this.

"Sal ..."

You call him softly, and he turns to you despite the hesitation. A light "tell me" sweet and helpful pronounced by the spoiled and shy lips.

Silently, you curl up against him, your arms glide smoothly around his chest, expressing your need to feel him close.

He welcomes you - he always does.

"Hey ..." is a faint call of him, as you hide against his neck to prevent your happiness from going out too violently.

"Thanks..." This is all you can say in your voice damp with emotion. Long last. You are like a child in front of the much desired Christmas present. You are so happy that you could carry the whole world on your shoulders.

"Thank you!" You repeat him with more conviction, and finally your eyes return to his sky-colored gaze. So beautiful, always so loving even in his placid surprise.

He looks at your wet eyes, so wet with affection for him. Your smile is so warm and true, and his lungs slowly empty of all the accumulated tension.

He didn't think anyone could look at him that way, not without his mask. He did not think that a look could be so full of love in front of his disfigured face, yet it seems that you are seeing an angel.

You look at him with your eyes shining with all the admiration you feel, and not because you can lie by saying that you are seeing a beautiful face, but because Sal is the most beautiful person you know.

"I-" His voice tries to say something, but it is cut off; this time it's up to him to be overwhelmed by emotion.

You approach slowly, and the tip of your nose touches his, practically non-existent, but you don't care. You cannot resist the desire to cuddle him, to touch him, to perceive him in every possible aspect of that intimacy that he has decided to give you.

At first he has a little jerk back, of surprise rather than fear, and soon after he is there again, looking for that touch. He is extremely uncertain, but he still responds to your unspoken requests, slowly letting his forehead rest on yours.

He exhales, as if he is releasing a great weight, but he immediately stiffens when you, without realizing it, are approaching his lips.

You wake up immediately from your numbness, before making a probable mistake, and try to get away, at least as long as his arms allow you.

"Please…"

That prayer from him is so feeble yet so meaningful. His gaze asks you to do it, to continue, because he wants it but he is still afraid of taking the initiative. He is putting the responsibility on you, and rightly so.

He is tense, you see it from his swallow and feel it from his tense muscles around you, but it's okay.

You approach again, slowly, gradually lowering your eyelids, a little by instinct and a little in the hope of putting him more at ease.

Kissing him is a special experience, and you like it - you wanted it so much -.

You are not intrusive, it is just a delicate touch, but it persists, leaving him time for him.

When he reciprocates, he does it slowly, unsure of how to proceed, probably troubled by the feelings he can give you or maybe just agitated by the situation. Yet, slowly, you feel it melt against you.

Slightly open your eyes to see that he too has closed them, and then you allow yourself to return to enjoy that moment, more peaceful and serene.

You huddle more, between yourselves, and let the desire flow through you, without going too far, simply enjoying the presence of each other, in your breaths that merge.

When you separate you do it only with your lips, but your gaze remains affectionate and aware.

In the end, that is nothing more than the confirmation of everything: of your knowing what time he should take his medicines and of his letting you know, of his knowing your favorite drink and which shower gel you always use, of cooking one by one. other, of looking so much like a couple for a long time already - and some of it is also the result of Larry's long tongue letting out a few too many words with his best friend.

You watch him as he puts his mask back on, and now you don't care anymore, because you know what's under it, and if that's his face then you've seen his soul.

Suddenly all your happiness is back. You are so happy that not even the bickering between Larry and Todd coming from the kitchen can upset you.

It must be something about the finished milk.

"I'm going to get it!"

You hum loud enough for the two to hear it, as you jump three steps at the same time, happily landing down the stairs.

Sal's laughter reaches you, and you turn to look at him. You like to see him happy, whatever the nature of that happiness.

"I come with you."

He tells you coming to you, reaching out his hand so that you can take it.

You're pretty sure you won't be able to stop smiling all night long.

*The image above is an old drawing of mine

[loyally-unfaithful]

—; but “sentimental boy” is my nom de plume

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

summary: it has been a year after the android revolution. humans and android alike settled down, an olive branch was offered as a sign of reconciliation. with newfound peace came along newfound love, and many open roads to choose from. this was no different for the rk800—connor. surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he decided to continue working at the dpd, this time as a bonafide detective. but he has also accepted the thrilling uncertainty of life that deviancy has brought; the same strings that brought his lover in his life.the same ones he hated and cursed, the same fates who ripped it all away.

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy.

you did what you were designed to do.

memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat; scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being mad and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was not there. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesisonly gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely  nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t  share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

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[pixelatedrose]

Existence Said It Was So

Word count: 1,941

Pairing: Prinxiety

Summary: Roman is having a hard time trying to come up with a way to tell Virgil he loves him on Valentines day when a sweet note is slipped under his door.

Warnings: It’s literally 1,941 words of Prinxiety fluff and I love it

Once upon a time there was a particular person who lived in Florida who had the different aspects of his mind bustling about inside his head.

  And on this particular day- February 14th- his mind might have been calm.

  His logical side- who was named Logan- was busy stuffing his nose in a cookbook, carefully reading each of the ingredients that were required to make a cake.

  His moral side- one that was called Patton- was occupying his time making little cards for each of his friends, peacefully humming to himself.

  His anxious side- who would respond to the name Virgil- was surprisingly nowhere to be found. It was mildly disconcerting at first, but the host- a one Thomas Sanders- was not opposed to being anxiety free on a day like this one.

  All was fair and well inside Thomas Sanders' mind.

  At least that's how it seemed.

  For his creative side- one dubbed Roman- was having a quiet panic attack in his room as he worried and stressed over a certain someone.

  Discarded papers were scattered around his room, broken pencils, calligraphy pens, and spilled ink cartridges littered his desk and floor. 

  Roman had to face facts.

  He was at a stalemate.

  There was no romantic gesture he could throw at Virgil Anxiety Sanders to make him fall in love with Roman Creativity Sanders.

  Roman threw himself onto his bed and groaned into his pillow.

  "How and why can Remus get a boyfriend and I, obviously the better looking one and smarter one, have been met with nothing but…" Roman sat up and looked around his room, his gaze falling to rest at yet another crumpled up poem at his feet. He kicked it hard and watched it spitefully as it bounced against his wall. "Nothing but stupid poems and stupid roses and stupid, stupid, disgusting words!!!"

  Roman flopped over, letting his upper half hang over the side of his bed, his eyes falling to a flipped image of his door.

  He watched as he vaguely registered the shadow of someone’s shadow peeking out from under the doorway. And he only registered that someone had to have been behind the door when something was slipped under his door.

  Roman all but fell off his bed and for a moment lay on the floor contemplating the fact that he probably scared off whatever side it was that had been behind the door with the solid thump his body had made against the floor before he picked himself back up and went to the door.

  He opened it first just to see if he could see anyone there. Of course, he was greeted with nothing but empty hallway.

  He returned to the envelope that lay on his floor.

  It was a simple envelope, if nothing else a little crumpled around the edges. It had Roman’s name in beautiful, sprawling calligraphy and contained a small note and simple dried and pressed hydrangea flowers of blue, purple and white. Roman was careful with the flowers, delicate as they were, and placed each one on his desk carefully before pulling out the note.

  Happy Valentines day. You’re amazing and you really shouldn’t be alone today. You deserve a lot better than that. Heaven knows that and so do I. Besides, being alone is kinda Virgil’s thing. Smile! The world needs you. Love, Someone who probably cares more than they should.

  It should have been a simple little thing, but it made Roman excruciatingly happy. Not over the top happy, just the kind of happy the burns a little in your chest and makes you want to cry a little for a few seconds.

  And that only made Roman work harder. Inspiration struck him like a brick in the head and he wrote something down on a small piece of paper which he folded in his pocket.

  Roman went out into the hall and turned to the door which lead into the imagination. He knew where Virgil liked to secretly spend his time, even though he’d never admit it.

  He opened the door and found himself greeted with a beautiful painting of a scene. The sun was beginning to set, painting the area in pale colors, though not quite orange or yellow yet. The vast field that spanned out in front of him swayed in a soft warm breeze, rustling and yet never breaking the illusion of complete seclusion. Ahead of him, the forest cast ever darkening shadows dancing across the ground and to his right he saw over the cliff that overlooked the great and vast valley that had not always been a part of the imagination, growing over time and providing safe haven for all the worlds and adventures Thomas had been on.

  And right at the edge of the cliff, leaning on a small section of fence, the only section that existed, was Virgil.

  Before Roman could stop it from happening, his heart fluttered violently, as if it were a trapped hummingbird in its cage of bone.

  He grounded himself, trying desperately to calm his raging thoughts that threatened to turn him back around. Instead he thought of what he needed and plucked a few forget-me-not flowers nearby and made his way over to where Virgil stood, drinking in the sunset.

  Not wanting to disturb the mood by announcing himself, Roman simply walked up next to the anxious side and leaned against the wood himself, gazing out across the land that he and the other sides had built together.

  Virgil didn’t say anything. He knew Roman was there. But he didn’t say anything.

  Now that Roman really thought about it, most of the world that he had created had been with the help of Virgil.

  “Hey, Virge?” Roman finally spoke after a long while, the stress of his prior meltdown washing away in the ever fading light of the sunset.

  “Hm?” Virgil responded to Roman’s all too soft voice, at least to him it was. It was an unfair amount of soft and sweet and quiet and even hearing it made the anxious side feel like he was floating dreamlessly on the breeze, carried more by the light of the dying sun than the air.

  “You know, I don’t think I ever thanked you.” Roman said, his soft voice dancing in Vigil’s ear.

  “For what?” Virgil’s own voice was equally exquisite, sounding the way peppermint tasted and the way silver looked, but it was airy too, like bubbles shining with color as the drift lazily through the unseen wind.

  Roman settled his went to settle his beating heart, but found it was calm. As calm as a glassy pool undisturbed and untouched by human hands or eyes for the duration of its exquisite existence.

  “For helping make all of the worlds that I have. You know most of what I’ve made is because of you, right?”

  Silence.

  All that was between them was the breeze and the sound of grass and the feeling of quiet content.

  The sun was dipping low in the sky, and their view was cast in a warm array of splashing and streaming hues of pink, orange, yellow, and red. It was gorgeous. And it was warm. Roman hadn’t realized how cold he had been back in his room. But now he drank in the warmth of the moment and the sun into his skin and his memory. He never wanted to forget this moment.

  “You were the...You were the one who wrote me that note...Weren’t you?” Roman never tore his gaze away from the sky as Virgil turned to look at him, and if you didn’t know any better you might say that his cheeks and ears had stolen the pink hues from the sky.

  Virgil was unable to speak. He had been so careful to make it seem like he wasn’t the one who’d written it. He thought of rejection, he thought of acceptance, he even dared to think of reciprocation.

  Roman glanced at Virgil who had not yet seemed to notice he was silently crying. It was the closest thing he was going to get to a yes for now and it was already more than Roman could ever ask for.

  Roman reached into his pocket and for a moment almost gave Virgil the note and walked away.

  But instead he slipped his hand back out and gently held Virgil’s hands, placing the few stalks of forget-me-not in his pale and refreshingly chilly hands.

  “You gave me hydrangeas because you knew they were my real favorite flower, didn’t you? The only one who knows that is you, Virgil.”

  Roman noticed the way Virgil stopped to consider it all.

  “I’m giving you forget-me-not because like the flower, I wouldn’t want you to forget me or this moment forever.” Roman stepped closer to Virgil and lightly considered moving his hands up the other’s arms, but decided he would rather not risk scaring him away. Besides, he liked the way the anxious side’s hands fit so welcomingly in his.

  “Virgil, I don’t know how you feel about me, but I know how I feel about you.” Roman forced himself to look his love in his pretty brown eyes, seeing nothing but beauty and an starstruck galaxies reflecting worlds upon universes of emotion, those eyes holding an entire existence’s worth of futures, words, and emotions in them. The light breeze played gently with Virgil’s hair and the light of the fading sky of colors splashed against his skin, making it seem to glow under it’s light.

  “Virgil, I love you. And I wish beyond all hope I’ve ever harbored within me that you never forget that, and that if I ever stop loving you, the world is wrong and stars are blinking out and existence itself will cry out in pain for this is not how the universe was written. It was written that I love you. And it was written that I always will love you. And that I always have.” Roman took a deep, shaky breath. At some point he had looked away from his light’s face and he couldn’t face him now. “Even if perhaps you don’t love me.”

  “Roman…” Roman looked up at Virgil to find that he was hardly an inch away from him. And before Roman really knew what was going on, Virgil was kissing him gently.

  It was soft and quick but it felt like how the grass around them sounded, how the world around them sounded, the way Roman let his hummingbird heart out of it’s cage, finally free. Finally alive. Finally awake.

  They came apart and Virgil had truly must have robbed the sunset of all it’s beauty. “I love you too, and I really don’t think I could forget that. I told you the world needed you. But if I’m being honest and completely cheesy here, my world is nothing without you.” Virgil stepped closer, if that was even possible and set the dainty flowers on the fence beside them. He cupped Roman’s face in his relaxingly chilly hands and he gently wiped away tears that Roman hadn’t known were there. “So don’t ever think I don’t love you ever again.” And he leaned in and kissed Roman again, this time there was no room for delicately fluffy clouds as they each melted into one another.

  And the ever fading sun silently slipped behind the hills as the world fell away, and all that remained were two souls that the universe and the world and stars had written for each other, two hearts that would love each other for as long as existence would live. 

[allicekitty13]

With Friends Like These

Read On Ao3

Read On FFN

Alice is forced to spend Thanksgiving with her father's family for the first time since he and her mother were divorced four years ago. Can an emotionally exhausting day be improved when she runs into Jasper and Rosalie while Black Friday shopping?

Part 2 of Jalice- Holidays an ongoing on short stories taking place on every holiday/special day of the year. I want to make sure everyone’s favorite day is included so feel free to send me a message if there’s a day you’d like to see on the list <3

It was the most uncomfortable Thanksgiving Alice had experienced since the divorce. She hadn't wanted to come, begged her mother to let her celebrate the holiday with The Cullen's as she usually would have and allowing Cynthia to travel to their father's residence in Seattle alone. Alice wasn't a big fan of thanksgiving. Still, spending it with her Aunt Esme, Uncle Carlisle, and even her moody overdramatic cousin Edward would have been much preferable to being stuck with her father's side of the family all day.

The morning had been spent with Anna-Marie, her soon to be step-mother who'd made it a goal to bond with the girls. They'd baked multiple pies and prepared enough side dishes to feed a small army. It was rather bothersome how, despite tearing her family apart, the woman desperately wanted to be a part of Alice and Cynthia's lives. She'd spent quite some time that morning trying to convince the youngest Brandon to call her 'mom.' If this was a day for being thankful, Alice would count the girl's outright refusal as one of the few blessings of the day.

The woman's awkward efforts at girl talk as they paid half-attention to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade were almost tolerable compared to the silent treatment Alice had received from her Aunt and uncle. From the moment they had arrived, their father's sister and her husband had pointedly ignored Alice's presence going out of their way to shower little Cynthia with adoration while pretending Alice wasn't there.

In all honesty, as she sat pushing around the turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing on her plate, she decided that having people pretend you didn't exist was much preferable to the barrage of questions her grandparents threw her way. They wanted to know about her grades, where was she planning on going to school after graduation, did she have a boyfriend.

Alice didn't want to answer any of these inquiries. Her response about her mediocre grades in English and history earned her a look of satisfaction from where her Aunt sat across the table. She didn't have an answer to the other questions having no current plans to go to university.

The boyfriend question, in particular, gave her pause. She'd been seeing Jasper Whitlock casually since Halloween when he'd finally confessed his mutual crush. She was enjoying the relationship, letting a sweet smile slip at the thought of the boy, but they hadn't had that conversation yet. She couldn't honestly say if he was her boyfriend or not, though she was definitely open to the idea.

In response to her grandparents, she had offered a simple no. Even if she did have a legitimate answer to their question, in all reality, it was none of their business. Over the past four years, there hadn't been a single birthday card; they hadn't given Alice or Cynthia so much a birthday card. Every one of the relatives on her mother's side already knew all the answers to these questions, had her grandparents made any effort to remain in her life after the divorce, they would as well.

The barrage of questions, the silent treatment of her Aunt and uncle, Anna-Marie's ever frequent attempts to include her in conversation, and of course, the dirty looks her father kept shooting her way was almost too much to handle. She wanted to yell at her grandparents to shut up, to stand up and storm away from the table, to hop in her car and drive straight back to Forks. But as she looked to where Cynthia was sitting on her grandfather's lap sharing a piece of pumpkin pie, she knew she had to stick it out as always Alice needed to be the adult. In due time, Cynthia would learn the cruelties of the Brandon family. For now, it was best to sit back and allow her younger sibling to enjoy the innocence of her youth.

With an internal sigh and a quick glance at her watch, curious as to how much longer she would have to endure her extended family Alice turned her attention back to her grandparents. She continued to politely answer the increasingly invasive questions as she waited for the meal to end when she could go upstairs to her old room and hopefully contact some of her friends over Zoom. The thought of flirting with Jasper, explaining the complexities of contouring to Bella, or discussing baseball with Emmett was enough to keep her powering through the meal.

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Once the extended family had said their goodbyes and made their way back to their own homes, Anna-Marie had the fantastic idea of trying to bond with the girls some more before they returned to Forks later that night. The idea was that the  family , for lack of a better word, would head to Target for some early Black Friday shopping.

Cynthia had taken to the promise of new toys quite easily, rushing for her coat as soon as the idea had been proposed, bouncing with excitement as she waited for Alice to end her Zoom call with Emmett. He'd been the only friend available when she'd sent out a group message. Bella was busy watching football with Charlie and Edward, who'd apparently left his own home to join them. She'd gotten a chuckle out of her cousin's response to her text on how football was pointless and boring; it was sweet, though, how he endured the game to please his girlfriend. To Alice's disappointment, neither Jasper nor Rosalie had responded to her message; she understood they were likely spending quality time with family, but it would have been nice to see their faces, specifically the former.

Emmett's presence was a godsend though, he was always good for a bad joke and discussion of something nonsensical. He was good at distracting people from matters at hand, precisely what Alice needed after the excruciatingly long afternoon and the tedium of her old room. It made sense that the space wouldn't be the same after four years and with most of her belongings back in Forks, but she hadn't expected it to feel so... foreign.

With some words of encouragement from Emmett, a quick reminder that it was only a few more hours before she would be allowed to make the return trip to Forks, Alice ended the call with her friend and begrudgingly made her way downstairs.

Luckily, she had been able to convince her father it made the most sense to drive herself to Target. After all, she'd driven both she and Cynthia to Seattle that morning, and by the time they'd finished shopping, it would be time to make the return trip. As she directed her sister into the beat-up Lumina and proceeded to buckle herself in, she wondered if Edgar's easy acceptance had been due to the logic of the statement or in an excuse to spend less time around his children. Watching her father and his future wife throughout the day had made it abundantly clear that the siblings were not there because he missed his children; rather, their presence was a concession to Anna-Marie's misguided desire to be a part of their lives.

Once at the store, Edgar had made halfhearted attempts to point out things his fiance thought Alice might enjoy. Books on subjects that might have interested her four years prior, records that may have held her interest before the divorce. Anna-Marie had likely gone through the few belongings left in Alice's room in an attempt to form a bond between the eldest daughter and her father. The effort was, however, far too little and far too late.

It took less than an hour for the two adults to give up on trying to placate Alice turning their undivided attention instead to her easier to please younger sister. Too young to recall or understand exactly what the pair had done, Cynthia  seemed  fine looking at toys with Edgar and Anna-Marie. So, when all three backs were turned to examine a doll the youngest Brandon daughter had pointed at excitedly, Alice ducked out of the aisle headed for the store's makeup section.

As she looked over a new line of palettes from Stila, a favorite brand of hers, she thought to herself that there was no way she could afford the still-high price even at the significant Black Friday price slash. Making a move to put it back, she jumped in fright as a pair of hands covered her eyes, only relaxing when the familiar voice of Jasper Whitlock whispered "Boo" in her ear as the hands dropped from her field of vision.

With a delighted chuckle and the first genuine smile she'd exhibited that day, she turned around, leaning in to hug the first friendly face she'd seen since leaving home for her father's that morning, allowing herself to relax in his presence. Even before they'd entered into whatever their relationship was now, Jasper had always been one of her closest friends. His presence was calming and safe. As she peeked around his arm, her happiness rose at seeing yet another friendly face standing back, looking over a rack of lipsticks.

Rosalie, who's long luscious curly locks were usually the same honey shade of blonde as her brother, had dyed her hair with what was meant to be temporary black dye to really get into the part of her Halloween costume. Unfortunately, the coloring hadn't washed out completely, leaving her hair stained a silvery grey color. To her credit, Rosalie had chosen to embrace the new look rather than freak out about the mistake. Always the drama queen, she had leaned into it, cultivating a vastly different style choice choosing slightly edgier black outfits over the past few months.

"What are you guys doing here?" Alice asked, pulling back from the hug, curious as to the circumstances bringing her two friends to a Target in Seattle when there was a location closer to Forks in Silverdale.

"Mom and dad wanted a new sectional for the living room, and this was the closest Target that has the one they're looking at." Rosalie commented as she placed a few lipsticks from the display into her shopping basket. "I'm glad we ran into you. Jas wouldn't shut up in the car about how 'Alice is in Seattle with her dad. I wonder how her day's going. Should I text her, or is that weird? What if she's also at Target? Wouldn't that be fun?' Gotta say, I really wasn't looking forward to that dialogue on the way back."

Rosalie's direct response caused both of the other teens to blush, looking away from each other. "Whatcha' looking at?" Jasper asked, snatching the shadow pallette out of Alice's hands in an attempt to change the subject.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just some new makeup; I'm thinking of seeing if mom can pick it up for Christmas." She the inside corner of her lip as she spoke, not wanting to let on that her mother would not be spending fifty dollars on makeup for Christmas or that there was no way she could afford it herself. "So, do you guys have time to hang out for a bit?"

"Avoiding your dad?" Jasper asked, eliciting a sad nod from the short girl. "Well, anything for you. Right Rose?" He looked over his shoulder at his sister with a mischievous grin.

Rosalie, who now bore an identical expression, agreed with enthusiasm. "I'm sure we can find some ways to keep you entertained."

Jasper quickly tossed something into his sister's shopping basket before grabbing Alice's hand, dragging her off into the heart of the store, followed by a giggling Rosalie.

The trio found various ways to entertain themselves, such as; sword fighting with wrapping paper; Rosalie had picked up a copy of Candyland with the suggestion that they play it ironically in the cady aisle. Alice had agreed on the condition that they purchase it and give it to Cynthia.

Rosalie and Alice had held a competition to see who could put together the most ridiculous outfit strutting through the clothing department. At the same time, Jasper filmed their antics to share on TikTok.

It had been a fun few hours of chaotic activity ending in a trip to the instore Starbucks to reenergize with pumpkin spice as they wandered around trying to decide what to do next. Eventually, they ended up sitting in some camping chairs set out on display in the outdoors section watching the throngs of customers fighting over merchandise. Alice and Jasper sat drinking their Starbucks as they brainstormed what to do next.

Alice had been sitting back, enjoying the pleasant turn her night had taken, when Jasper stood up with an excited look on his face. "I've got it!"

"Please," Rosalie responded. "Do elaborate."

"Okay, the game is hide and seek with a twist. You can hide anywhere in the store; if you're found, you can run and hide again. But if you're tagged, you're done. Any questions?"

"I'm in, but you're it." Alice stood, pulling a cloth headband from her bag. She stepped up onto a decorative stump that made up part of the camping display and tied the fabric around Japer's eyes. "Count to twenty-five and come find us."

She looked over at Rosalie, who nodded, counted to three, and shouted, "GO!" As she took off down the aisle in search of a hiding spot.

Alice followed suit with a light giggle, rushing instinctively to the juniors section ducking under a clearance rack hiding behind the markdown fall jeans and dresses.

It wasn't long before she could see Jasper coming from between the clothing items, stifling a giggle in anticipation, prepared to run as he looked through every rack looking for the girls. It didn't take long for him to reach the spot where she was hidden, laughing out gotcha as she ducked to the side, making a break for the seasonal section. As she chanced a glance behind her to see if he was on her tail, relieved to see the coast was clear, she slowed to a walk only to be surprised when Jasper jumped out from the aisle in front of her.

He reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her forward into a hug. "Got ya, for real this time." He laughed as he held her close, gazing down at her with affection.

The air felt thick with a comfortable tension, her heart thumping hard at a slow, steady rhythm. "We should probably go look for Rosalie." She spoke softly after a moment.

"Yeah, you're probably right." He didn't immediately release her, pausing with an expression that made her wonder if there was something he wanted to say but was holding back.

With a slight shake of the head, Jasper released his hold on her waist. "Would you like a ride, milady?" he asked, gesturing to a discarded shopping cart off to the side, causing Alice to break down in giggles. He lifted her up, placing her delicately into the empty cart, proceeding to push her down the aisle in search of his sibling.

Rosalie wasn't hard to find, having gotten distracted by a bin of discounted Nintendo games and forgetting about the game. The trio decided to wander about the store once again. Distracted by pleasant conversation and a game of walking charades. They didn't notice when they Edgar, Anna-Maria, and Cynthia spotted their group or how Alice's father was storming directly toward them.

"Mary-Alice, who are these people." Her father looked on at Rosalie and Jasper in disgust. Although she didn't particularly care about her father's opinion, it would have been nice to introduce Edgar to Jasper under better circumstances, maybe when she had a clearer idea of exactly what he was to her. At the very least, not while he was pushing her around a Target in a shopping cart.  

"That's Jasper!" Cynthia piped in, unaware of how their father would view the situation. "He's Alice's boyfriend. And Rosie!" The little girl's face lit up upon seeing her favorite of her sister's friends standing off to the side. Cynthia instantly released her hand from Anna-Marie's and bounced over to give the woman a hug. The woman seemed slightly dejected at the action, realizing that the child had been placating her all day, happy to receive any sort of attention. Whereas upon seeing Rosalie, she had been genuinely excited, immediately beginning to chatter about her day at top speeds.

Alice's attention was focused on her fuming father expecting the worst. There wasn't much he could do; after all, they were in a public location, and he'd lost all control he had over her when Alice had moved out with her mother in the divorce. Still, that fear remained ever-present as she unconsciously scooted back further into the cart.

"Get out of that cart and act like a lady! You're embarrassing yourself and my name!" The man seethed, hissing the words through a clenched jaw.

Alice stood, trying to figure out how exactly she was going to get out on her own when Jasper picked her up again. He placed her back on the ground gently before both turned once again to face the angry Edgar. Jasper never once removing his hand from the small of her back; she was grateful for this, the touch keeping her calm and grounded.

Edgar opened his mouth, presumably to order his daughter to say goodbye to her friends when a familiar voice sounded from behind the group. "There are my children," Alice turned around to see David Hale striding over to the group. "Alice and Cynthia as well, what a pleasant surprise."

David offered both girls a warm smile before turning his attention to Alice's father. "And Edgar, I'm shocked I never made the connection before.  Brandon,  you must be the girl's father, such a small world when the daughter of one of my suppliers happens to become such close friends with my children without either of us knowing. Jasper, Rose," He looked over his shoulder at the twins, "Your mother is out front in the van; we're ready to leave. You should take Alice and go check out while I catch up with Mr. Brandon for a moment." He then turned his attention back to Edgar with an incredulous expression.

Not needing to be told twice, the three teens left the adults to talk, making their way to the self-checkouts located at the front of the store where Rosalie began to scan her purchases. Alice zoned out as the twins discussed the matter of an item Rosalie hadn't recalled placing in the basket; not wanting to involve herself in their argument, she instead thought back to the confrontation with her father. The gravity of Cynthia's words suddenly hitting her with full force; the eight-year-old had called Jasper her boyfriend. She'd been too preoccupied in the moment to notice, but now that she'd come to the realization, she was suddenly anxious. She looked over at the guy in question; he was smiling at his sister in triumph, having apparently won the battle.

She wondered what he had thought of Cynthia's statement as Rosalie paid for their items, slipping her brother a bag before they wandered out into the parking lot. Had he even noticed, or had he been just as distracted as she had been by the uncomfortable situation?

"What's on your mind?" Jasper asked once outside, motioning for his twin to go on ahead as they walked over to where Alice's Lumina was parked. "You're doing that thing where you're thinking too hard and start chewing on the corner of your lip."

"I do that?"

"Nope, don't change the subject, missy. What's wrong?"

"Okay..." She opened nervously. "You didn't correct Cynthia when she called you my boyfriend."

"Well, you didn't either." His response came with equal trepidation.

"I guess I didn't."

"Did... did you want me to?"

Alice shook her head, furiously at the question, "No! I just... wanted to be sure what was going on here."

"Oh Alice," Jasper chuckled as he bent down to please a kiss in her temple as he shoved a Target sack into her hands, "Happy early Christmas,  girlfriend . I'll see you on Monday." He tucked a stray hair behind her eat with a smile before venturing over to where Rosalie as waiting with their parents shooting Alice a final glance before climbing into his family's van.

She leaned against her own vehicle with a dopey smile. That had been as clear an answer as she could have asked for. Looking down into the bag, she pulled out a single item, the same Stila palette she'd been looking at earlier. She held the eyeshadow in her hands, tightly filled with joy. Of course, he'd noticed her every expression and caught onto her lie. That was just like Jasper, to do something so sweet on the spur of the moment.

Alice tossed the gift into the backseat of her car before making her way back inside. Prepared to endure the rest of the obligatory time with her family. Her Thanksgiving might have started out terrible, but with friends like Emmett and Rosalie and a boyfriend  like Jasper. She really couldn't complain.

[sidespromptblog]

The Change: Part 3

One, Two

Summary: Deceit decides that its time for a change in his life, tired of being treated as nothing but the most awful and evil villain... he decides to go the largest degree possible to take that change. Leaving everything that he had behind him.

Soon enough the sound of Roman’s voice faded away as he clambered up the stairs with the new side, and it was then and only then when Virgil picked himself up from the bottom of the stairs barely offering the direction in which Roman had gone a single glance. His fingers plucked at the strands of white thread that stood out on his jacket, making one of the ends unravel as he ventured into the kitchen where Patton and Logan were more than likely getting ready to discuss what they would be having for dinner since they had a new guest who’s food tastes they literally knew nothing about. Chances were… they’d probably go for pasta as a go-to, that was what they had done for him when he had been stubborn and quite, but still willing to show up for dinners in the first place.

For one quiet moment, he watched Logan and Patton deliberate between choosing spaghetti sauce and alfredo, their silent anxieties telling him that they were terrified that their new guest had some kind of unspoken allergy to either one of them.  It was nice… and familiar, something that he was used to, the complete opposite of the new stranger that would now be living among them.

“Why don’t we just make both!” Patton nervously chattered to Logan, holding up both the can of spaghetti sauce and jar of alfredo sauce, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Many things,” Logan calmly butted in, as he started to count on his fingers. “He could go into a food-induced coma, he could go into shock by one of the many ingredients that you add to your dinners every night, his throat could swell up making it impossible for him to breathe, he could get hives, he could-”

With each word that left his mouth, Patton seemed to grow more and more unsure.

“Guys,” Virgil cut Logan off quickly knowing that the logical side could and most certainly would carry on for the rest of the night if they allowed him to. And now that he had their attention he forced himself to leave the unraveling string of his jacket alone as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, focusing his gaze onto the little patch of flour on Patton’s glasses rather than meeting his eyes. “Doesn’t he seem a little… I don’t know…” He muttered, his gaze dropping down to the knot of Patton’s cat hoodie, “A little odd?” He hated to admit such a thing, but he… he just had this feeling since the other side had popped up behind him. The kind of feeling that came to him like the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, or like when he was waiting for a ghost to pop up during a horror movie. Suspense. “He feels… a little off to me, you know?”

They probably didn’t know, he was the only one who got these kinds of feelings.

Just the other week he had felt spooked by the ice dispenser of the fridge because it had been churning out more ice than usual, he felt iffy about even Thomas’ car when the tires made a different sound on the road. He was the last person who honestly should have been basing any kind of hard facts on something as fickle as gut feelings. He was Anxiety, everything was a bad gut feeling for him. Nothing was ever going to change that, that was for sure.

And yet…

Logan's hand laid heavily across his shoulder snapping Virgil out of his internal rambling musing. “It is alright,” The logical side patiently said, an almost awkward but warm smile quirking on his lips. “It took you quite a long time to get used to us and all of our eccentricities, and this is a new person who you aren’t familiar with. It is okay to say that he ‘squicks you out’ at first, you don’t exactly have the same relationship with him that you do with us. And that is perfectly normal, just because he is staying with us does not mean you are obligated to treat him like you would us.” Logan readjusted his glasses, as out of nowhere a notecard appeared in his hand. “I believe the term is… ‘Different strokes for different folks’?”

Within seconds a groan left Virgil’s lips as his palm connected with his face, a mixture of awkwardness and embarrassment rushing through him at the phrase that their resident logical side had printed out onto the notecard. He didn’t even want to imagine where Logan had found that phrase out, although he could pretty much guess given the faintest curve of the other side’s lips that revealed the smallest and most satisfied smirk that he had ever seen on Logan’s face to this day.

Cheeky.

“Logan’s right kiddo,” Stepping forward and putting the two different sauces away, for the time being, Patton wore a patient smile on his face. “You don’t have to talk or even interact with him until you’re ready to learn more about him. To be honest…” For a moment that moral side stopped, a look of deep echoing sadness falling into the crevices of the worry lines on Patton’s face. “I think that it might take him a while to get used to everything, I… just the way he responded to being told he didn’t have to do something.. he.. he…” Patton’s bottom lip trembled, and Virgil felt the tears coming before he even saw them.

Of course, he was upset about how Self Preservation had responded. Even Virgil had accepted Patton’s kindness, and he had never cried from just being given the most basic amount of respect. If he was being entirely honest… the entire thing had worried him as well, because whatever it was.. and whatever had happened... He got the feeling that the truth was traumatic at the worst, and excruciatingly painful in the very least. Regardless, all he could do was nod his head at Patton’s words, he didn’t know what it felt like for the moral side if he was being entirely honest. He would never know, that is what it was like to feel things so powerfully and so constantly in the extremes that Patton did.

So the very least that he could do was nod his head, and at least attempt to understand how he felt about this.

“Well,” That one word weighed a ton on his tongue, “I’ll leave you two to the cooking thing.” He almost felt bad for leaving Logan with Patton while he was in this state of mind, but really, nothing cheered their loveable moral side up more than cooking with Logan. So offering the pair one last wave as he sank out, he was pretty sure that they were in good hands.

At least he hoped so.

Meanwhile, in his own room… Deceit had absolutely no idea on what to fill his room with.

It should have been simple, Roman had told him to imagine whatever he felt like and it would appear in the proper place that he would have wanted it. So it really should have been no problem to make his room an exact match to the one that he had left behind, minus all of the black clothing and evil spooky snake decor that he had torn to shreds before he had left. But therein lied the problem, he couldn’t make his room look exactly like his old one. Virgil had seen his old room, Virgil had spent many of nights in his old room with the two of them laying on the floor doing anything from watching old classic movies to sleeping on his massive bed together when Virgil and a good chunk of the time Deceit, didn’t want to sleep alone. Virgil had been to his old room, and he would know right off the bat that it was him based on what he filled it with.

So he was left there, with a rather blank and empty room, and no ideas.

“Uugh,” He grumbled to himself, crossing his arms rather grumpily, “This shouldn’t be as hard as it is…” It really shouldn’t have been, and that was perhaps the most pathetic thing about this entire situation. He had the chance to start anew, and he hadn’t even begun starting yet! Well… that was a lie. He had summoned a closet full of clothing, so there was at least that. Allowing him to change out of the sweltering sweater that he had worn, swapping it out for a sleeveless turtleneck that was bright yellow and spotted with sunflowers.

He had to stick to his branding after all.

In the end, he wasn’t sure how much time he spent in his room, filling it with random things to see how it looked before settling for a bed, a dress that held a tv on top of it, a few bright yellow beanbag chairs that looked like massive smooshed sunflowers, a massive rug that Deceit could just sink his toes into it was so soft, and finally… a few bookcases that had absolutely nothing in them yet.

His room was full of stuff, and yet… it felt absolutely foreign to him, a part of him wanted the comfort of his old room back. The walls that were brick but lined with many of posters from different musicals over the years, the ever-present chill that had always made him bundle up with a ton of different blankets, his old stuffed snake that had long since lost her button eyes and a good chunk of the stuffing that had been inside of her thanks to Remus’ ‘doctor days’, and most importantly… he missed the comfort of feeling safe. In his room he knew that he could relax, it was his room after all. But here… where Roman could summon his room and possibly take it away on a whim, it almost felt like.. like his room wasn’t entirely his. He knew that he could shift his own room wherever he wanted to down in the subconscious, if he wanted it to be closer to the kitchen then he’d only have to think of it and it would happen. Here… he didn’t have that safety, that comfort, that knowledge of knowing of his room would always be his.

It was kind of stupid, in its own little way.

Because he had chosen this, a part of him knew what would happen as soon as he left everything behind, as soon as he took the scissors to his things making his room look more like a crime scene than a bedroom, when he dropped everything even his title. He knew what he was doing, and so he was going to have to deal with it.

Whether he liked it or not.

[fairy25]

So you don't think when J.K. Rowling said "I'd march with you if you were discriminated against on the basis of being trans." is dangerous or un-feminist?? Trans women lack access to health care, job security, attacked, and killed every day. They are very much discriminated against on the basis of being trans. And anybody who is willingly ignorant of the privileges cis women have like she does do not deserve to call themselves feminists. They are TERFS, plain and simple.

What? She said she supports trans people, in another tweet she even said she loved them, and that she is willing to march for their rights and you think that’s bad because... transwomen face discrimination? How is that a logical criticism? She is openly opposing discrimination against trans people. She is saying she will fight with them against discrimination. What you’re saying makes no sense. You’re saying you disagree with her opposing discrimination against trans people because discrimination against trans people exists (?)

What privileges do “cis” women have over transwomen, exactly? If a “cis” woman and a transwoman are both raped, which of them has to worry about becoming pregnant with their rapist’s baby? Are transwomen being placed in menstrual huts, or having FGM performed (and no, circumcision doesn’t count), or having their vaginas excruciatingly sewn up before their wedding nights for their husband’s pleasure, or having needles forced into their skulls as babies in the hopes they die because they dared to be born female, or being forced to carry a child against their will while still a child themselves, or being fired for not wearing makeup or doing their hair, or being smothered moments after birth because they have a vagina, or having their breasts ironed, or having acid thrown on their faces and melting their flesh for refusing a suitor, or being told “a doctor? sweetie that’s a man’s job, you should become a nurse instead(:” by their college guidance counselors, or being lobotomized and locked in mental hospitals against their will by their husbands, or being told their debilitating endometriosis is “just PMS”, or being molested or raped by their (male) doctor while under anesthesia? I’m not saying transwomen don’t face discrimination—they do. But they face discrimination because they are trans, not because they are women. Acting like sex-based oppression and violence specifically targeting “cis” women doesn’t exist, or that transwomen (biological men) can experience female sex-based oppression / female socialization is absolutely ludicrous. Acknowledging that men and women are socialized differently, are treated and viewed differently by the world, and face different sex-specific issues is not violence—it’s reality.

Also newsflash sweetheart: I am a radical feminist (what you would call a big bad TERF, even though we include transmen in our feminism so that term doesn’t make any sense). I believe:

Sex exists as a binary and is immutable.

Men and women are socialized differently because of their sexed bodies. For example: A little boy is allowed to go play outside whenever he wants, but his sisters are told that they can’t go play outside today because their dresses will get dirty/it’s unladylike.

Woman isn’t a feeling. Do all women feel the same? Think the same? What are these so-called womanly thoughts? 10 points to anyone who can answer these questions without being misogynistic or using sexist stereotypes (bet you can’t)!

Men and women face different types and degrees of oppression that are sex-specific. For example: A 13 year old girl being required to carry her rapist’s baby to term vs. a teenage boy in a conservative town being beaten up for kissing his boyfriend in public.

Intersex conditions are inevitable mutations that in no way disprove the sex binary. The same concept applies here: If a baby is born with a genetic condition that causes her to have only one arm, that doesn’t mean humans as a species do not have two arms.

Acknowledging that women have vaginas and men have penises is not reducing them to their genitals, it’s just a simple observation of reality. If I say “dogs have tails” does that mean dogs are just tails?

None of the above statements mean I hate trans people or wish harm on them in any way (in fact quite the opposite, I think they deserve to live safe, happy lives) - they simply mean that sex is not something that can be changed because someone “feels” like the opposite sex / has gender dysphoria. They mean I believe same-sex attraction is based on (shocker) sex, and saying lesbians should be open to having sex with penises or gay men should be open to having sex with vaginas is homophobic repackaged conversion therapy rhetoric. They mean I support JK Rowling’s message.🤘

[jbuffyangel]

Second Chances: Arrow 8x04 Review (Present Tense)

Holy frack there is a lot to unpack. 

Ha! That rhymes.  Let’s dig in….

***Skipping the Quick and Dirty because this review is very late, so I figure y’all know the basic plot from other sources by now.

 Oliver and William

Let’s start with the simpler of the two relationships between father and child. Oliver is still reeling from Mia’s, “Dad?” when William runs into his arms because he is the softest bear to ever live. 

Source: norahasotherstuff

He’s missed his dad so much and it’s pure, overwhelming joy that propels him forward without a minute of hesitation. I love how free William is with his emotions. He’s a bursting ball of light and love. Reminds me of someone.

Oliver’s understanding of who this is sinks in when he feels his son’s arms around him. SOB.  

Source: olicitygifs 

William is the first of anybody to understand they are in the past. Or present. Or something. The lack of crappy makeup and horrifically bad wigs in the first tip off, but the fact Oliver isn’t six feet underground is the primary clue for this Hardy boy.

Source: feilcityqueen 

Oliver and William are given some time to catch up back at the apartment. Oliver’s immediate instinct is to call Felicity and tell her what is going on. 

Look my friends! The writers remembered there are things called PHONES on Earth 1. 

Isn’t honest and communicative Oliver so refreshing? It’d be so nice if his wife could enjoy it on screen. 

William shuts down getting in touch with Felicity because he doesn’t know the time travel rules. 

Are we Back to the Future or Avengers Endgame? William doesn’t know, so they shouldn’t contact Felicity yet.

Honestly, this entire conversation is just to address the perfunctory, “How do we handle MIA Emily Bett Rickards?” question.

For the record, I think Oliver not calling Felicity even once onscreen is bullshit. 

But here’s the thing – Emily is not part of Arrow Season 8 until the finale. End of discussion. We’re going to get lots of Felicity references and I think the writers have done a marvelous job of giving us content so far despite an unavailable actress. Could they write one-way phone conversations or throw texts up like Jane the Virgin? Sure, but this is Arrow and simple/logical resolutions aren’t their wheelhouse.

Regardless, they certainly aren’t going to deal with the EBR issue every week in every episode. The fans watching the show have to accept at a certain point that Emily Bett Rickards left the show and this is the reason why Felicity is not doing X, Y and Z. We do not need it spelled out for us every week.

Source: olicitygifs 

Olive is desperate for some good news in the future. This is such a fucking Season 7 mood. 

William obliges and tells him that he’s a billionaire corporate tech tycoon. So between his son and Felicity it no longer matters that Oliver signed over his children’s inheritance to a woman he banged one night in Russia. (I added that last part in).

Source: olicitygifs

Oliver is so proud he cries. I sob whenever my child accomplishes pretty much anything, so I feel this is a very accurate representation of parenthood.

It also opens the door for William to come out to his father, which he never had the chance to do. 

My favorite part was when Oliver confessed to William that he and Felicity knew he was gay… because parents always know whether they can admit it or not. 

Source: tylerposey 

Oliver cries again (right there with you buddy) and it’s a lovely scene. The basic takeaway is just love your kids.

Source: olicitygifs 

 Bless William for being excited about what I am excited about – they have a second chance to get to know each other. It’s easier for William and Oliver because they already built the foundation. There’s a lot to catch up on, but the bond between father and son is established. William has spent the last 20 years wishing he could talk to his dad and he’s not wasting this opportunity. No matter how bizarre it is.

William is the one to tell Present Team Arrow about how awful the future is and again, we’re already changing the future if this, in fact, Back to the Future rules. Rene knows his daughter dies and he becomes a corrupt politician. Oliver knows that Star City is still going to hell in a hand-basket despite all his sacrifices.

Barry gets a coffee and the key to the city in the second season. Oliver has been hero-ing for eight years and things still turn out crappy in the future. Sometimes it really sucks to be an Arrow fan. And yet I stay because I am a masochist who enjoys pain and excruciatingly difficult hero’s journeys. Something is seriously wrong with me.

Oliver is deep in brooding mode, sharpening arrows, after Mia yells at him for “playing dad” and leaves with L*urel. William wants to know why he didn’t stop her and the truth is Oliver thinks she’s right. He chose to leave. He has not earned the right to be her father. Not like he has with William.

But Oliver is forgetting he went through this with William. He blamed Oliver for his mother’s death.

Yes, William is a child and Mia is an adult. Yes, Oliver had to break his promise. He physically walked away to save their lives. But he remained devoted in his love and all the rest all remains true. The only way to earn being someone’s parent is to be their parent.

William’s grief over losing his mother was overwhelming. He was angry with Oliver, resented his choices and the way he was parenting him. Oliver and William had a very rocky start, but those rocks are the foundation of their relationship today. It’s the reason why Oliver and William know they can start again because they have done it before.

All of William’s pain and suffering has made him into exactly the kind of brother Mia needs now. He understands her anger at Oliver. He also knows that despite her anger and whether she can admit it or not, Mia desperately needs Oliver.

William’s experiences also made him into the kind of son who can guide his father’s hand. William is saying, “Hey. You’ve been here before. Remember? You found the way with me and you can find the way with Mia.”

Felicity would be proud.

This also gives William the opportunity to hash out some remaining issues with his father because things are not all roses with them either. Oliver is still hurt William left to live with his grandparents, because it happened a few months ago. William is the weathered soul in this war and has gained an interesting perspective on the experience.

Oliver: I thought you hated my guts.

William: I hated you for abandoning me.

Oliver: I tried.

William: True, but I wanted you to try harder. Push a little more. I think that’s all any child wants from their parents.

Oliver and Felicity can argue William moving in with his grandparents was the best thing for him at the time, but I refuse to believe anyone is better for him than his parents. William has realized deep down he never wanted his dad and Felicity to let him go. Kids test their parents and this was a particular test William wished his father fought harder.

And I have to agree. I thought it was insane that Oliver and Felicity let William go live with his grandparents. I can’t remember if S7 Jen thought that, but S8 Jen sure does. 

The reality of their living situation hadn’t really changed all that much from when Oliver first became William’s primary care giver.  He was the Green Arrow the entire time. That’s why they hired Raisa. A couple bad guys break into the apartment and they ship the kid off? William is ticked at Oliver for going to prison, so he decides to LEAVE? How does that make sense? And why are we letting the 13 year old call the shots? I honestly couldn’t believe they agreed.

And we all know Oliver and Felicity’s reasoning is faulty because the writing doesn’t make any sense. The worst thing about these flash forwards is William not knowing who Mia is in order to keep the reveal a shock. They really expect us to believe Felicity never comes back for William? Gimme a break. I’m all for surprises, but not at the sake of the story.

The writers are trying to clean up the mess and resolve some of the drama, but it is Oliver and Felicity who unfortunately end up holding the bag. It doesn’t make either of their characters look great, but I can ultimately forgive it as well because it feeds a much larger truth about parents and their children.

Parents – you’re going to screw up.

Kids – you have to decide how much those screw ups will screw you up.

This is why Thea’s words to Oliver last week are so important. He was going to make mistakes whether he stayed with his family or not, but those mistakes do not diminish his love for his children. It all forms who his children will become. And hey – nobody is as messy as Robert and Moira Queen and the Queen siblings turned out okay.

Oliver and Felicity made a mistake by letting William leave. They aren’t perfect parents. Nobody is. The point is to learn, keep trying and fight harder. Ultimately, it’s up to William and Mia to decide whether or not to forgive their parents for being human beings.  Every child must come to terms with the mistakes their parents make, weigh it against their intentions and love, and then decide whether or not to forgive them. This is part of becoming an adult.

Oliver: I’m sorry.

William: It’s ok. Dad, I’m glad that you’re in my life. Then and now.  And Mia will be too.

William chooses to forgive his father. It’s a beautiful and honest moment between father and son. This is exactly the kind of bonding and healing I wanted Oliver to have with his children – a second chance.

Oliver and Mia

Let’s keep in mind the last time Oliver saw Mia she was in her crib, so seeing a fully grown young woman before him requires some adjustment, 

Source: lucyyh 

but Papa Bear rebounds nicely. Stephen Amell mixes pride, confusion, joy and love in this perfectly delivered line.

Source: olivergifs 

In typical Oliver fashion his first question is if the kids are okay. He steps toward Mia to hug her, but she is in complete shock and totally overwhelmed.

Source: olicitygifs 

The barrier between her dead father and her very much alive father is breaking down with the reality of their situation, but Mia cannot accept it yet. Her pain is almost immediate and she steps away from Oliver. A line in the sand is drawn. He can’t come closer. It hurts too much and she’s not ready.  Reminds me of someone.

It hurts Oliver just as much as when Felicity did the same thing. 

Mia should have been wearing The Red Coat of Pain.  

Source: olicitygifs 

Look, if my 34-year-old daughter time traveled from the future to the present it’d be a puzzler for sure, but cool as hell and I’d smush her perfect face in a microsecond. Way to represent Oliver.

Rene and Dinah are extremely confused why Oliver has a daughter and he’s all, “Oh yeah. Cool story.” He’s explaining to Thing 1 and Thing 2, but Oliver is really talking to Mia. He doesn’t take his eyes off her and he shares the story of her birth. SOB.

Source: olicitygifs

I love Diggle’s they-told-me-because-I’m-not-just-anyone look here. Oliver apologizes to Dinah and Rene for finding out about Mia like this and they immediately understand why he lied and have zero problems with it. It’s your basic personality lobotomy because this is the final season (kumbaya) and there’s no time for the newbies to be their usual toddler selves.

Rene wants to know when the kiddos can fill them in on all the 2040 gossip and hey that’s a good point. (Holy hell I’m agreeing with Rene. It’s the end times my friends). Dinah and Rene don’t find out about Mia until twenty years later, so the future has already begun to change. Oliver wants the kids to share all their Back to the Future goodies once they’re comfortable.

Spoiler alert: They’re not comfortable.

Connor tells Mia and William he was about to kill his brother (there’s your confirmation if you were in any way unclear about Connor’s intentions). Mia has zero problems with Connor killing JJ, but is angry he escaped. Yup, this tracks with Mia’s morality since she’s basically Season 1 Oliver. William reminds her that it doesn’t really make a difference now because JJ is five and they can’t Baby Hitler him.

I saw that look Mia Smoak Queen. 

Source: amunetblack 

She decides as team leader they should keep their mouths shut because nobody wants to tell Diggle his biological son goes all evil and kills Rene’s daughter. I mean… yeah… tricky conversation starter. Do you do it over coffee? Vodka. I feel booze could really help the situation a lot.

This means that FTA is going to lie to OTA and William correctly asserts this plan is insane because this is Original Team Arrow. They aren’t dummies. Well sure, now they aren’t but oh kids. Do I have some stories for you.

Oliver takes the kids back to his apartment and Mia gets the first real sense of what it was like for Felicity to live with Oliver. 

Source: olicitygifs

I know Felicity had pictures of Oliver in the cabin, but this is their life before Mia. A life she was not part of yet. My mother once took me to the house she grew up in and the owners allowed us to look around. It was so wonderfully odd to put a place to all the stories I heard growing up, but nothing was like I imagined it.

The shock is wearing off and this is the first moment Mia’s anger bubbles to the surface. This was supposed to be her home, where she grew up with her father, mother and brother. None of that happened because Oliver “disappeared” according to William.

It would seem like a simple answer - wouldn’t it? Felicity took the children to Oliver’s grave. One can naturally conclude this means he is dead, but William says he’s not sure what happened. Y’all, if you are still stressing about Oliver remaining dead after this show goes off air then turn your attention to the Grand Canyon sized back door the Arrow writers just wrote in. They can’t even say he is dead.

Oliver has been pondering his mortality for 12 years, and particularly now, so he absorbs this information extremely well. But the hits keep on coming as William fills him in on the rest – how he didn’t grow up with Mia and never saw Felicity again until 20 years later.

Mia chimes in with a bitter, “Yeah it was just me and Mom at the cabin.” Oliver’s pain when he realizes his “disappearance” is the trigger for his precious family splintering apart is just gut wrenching. 

Source:  feilcityqueen

Yes, he saved their lives, but it was not the life he hoped for any of them.

Oliver wants to catch up on 20 years of history, but Mia’s not looking to hug and cry and learn and grow. The chill when she leaves the room to go to bed let’s Oliver know exactly where he stands with his daughter. She’s freezing him out.

Oliver is worried Mia will never give him the chance to get to know her, but William reassures his father. Mia is stubborn and hard to read. I’d like to add distrustful, moody and impulsive. 

As Oliver’s mini me it’s perfectly acceptable to hold him accountable, which leads to some warm and good-natured ribbing between father and son.

Source: olicitygifs 

Mia reassures Present Team Arrow the Deathstroke gang isn’t a problem in the future after they blow up the hospital. Deathstroke gang? Pfft. Never heard of them. I’d also like to add liar, liar pants on fire to the personality traits Mia shares with her father.

And since they’re on a roll, Mia and William also reassure they are still friends with Zoe and she’s farting sunshine and rainbows.

Source: renesramirez

Ugh. Brutal.

Mia and Connor are convinced JJ is the leader of the Deathstroke gang. William tries to reason with them. He suddenly has a gang and is organized enough to start blowing up buildings within a few hours of arriving from a different time period? When you talk it out it doesn’t make sense. (She says to Last Week Jen who totally though JJ was the leader of the Deathstroke gang in present time too).

They go to the original Deathstroke hideout and discover it’s really Grant Wilson. It’s a nice tie into the Legends of Tomorrow’s “Star City 2046” which is the first time we met the wonderful David-Joseph Jones. 

Present Team Arrow shows up to save their asses and Oliver gets to rescue another Smoak female from a bomb. 

Source: felicitysmoak 

Ah… memories. 

 When all the lies come tumbling out it’s not pretty.

Rene picks Zoe up and plans to work his way through a pint of mint chip with her, which is an extremely valid life choice given the news he’s just received. But could you get the kid some ice cream she actually likes? I agree disliking mint chip is MADNESS, but she’s going to die in twenty years so chocolate it is.

Dinah meets up with Rene and tries to convince him the future can be changed.

Rene: How am I supposed to wake up every morning knowing how many days we have left together?

Dinah: By trying to change what happens. Trying every single day.

Arrow is known for their less than subtle cuts and what immediately follows Dinah’s statement is an argument between Oliver and Mia. 

Source: Paige 

She is unable to sit on the sidelines anymore while the team researches Grant and his Deathstroke gang. Oliver wants to help Mia with her grief, but she can’t even admit her grief let alone desperately needing her father.

What’s so sad about this scene is Oliver is right. He’s been there. He understands exactly what Mia is feeling. All of Oliver’s loss and suffering have made him into the man and father his daughter needs. But Mia won’t let him in and a large part of that is because she’s just like him. It’s like a mirror of himself eight years ago is being reflected back at him.

Oliver and Mia are put their cards on the table. She is right. Parenthood is earned. It is not something that is magically created from biology. Anyone can have a child and call themselves a “parent”, but a real parent puts their child above their own selfish needs and wants.

And that’s what Oliver Queen did. There is no place on earth Oliver wanted to be more than in the cabin with Mia, Felicity (and William) for the last twenty years. If Oliver was a selfish man, he would’ve spent the rest of his days with them and let everyone perish in the Crisis. Oliver was going to die no matter what, so why not hold on to the only peace and happiness he’s ever known? At least they’d be together.

But Oliver could never make that choice because he is selfless. Mia is right – Oliver is a hero, but his need to be recognized as such is not the reason he left her. Oliver wanted Mia, William and Felicity to have the life they deserved – even if it meant one without him. He is willing to die for them.

His decision cost Mia her father, but it was a price Oliver was willing to pay. The only thing more unimaginable to Oliver than missing out on raising Mia is Mia not being part of this world. Oliver put his child’s life above his own because his precious, remarkable, beautiful, strong, and smart Mia is his world.

Do I think Mia is being cruel to Oliver? No. I think she’s being honest. This is how she feels.

Children have a remarkable way of blaming themselves for decisions their parents made. 

Oliver is fighting the good fight like it’s any other day. There must have been something deficient in Mia that made moving on from his daughter so easy.

Source: arrowdaily

Mia may be grown, but she’s still a child in so many ways and particularly when it comes to father. All she can see is the man who chose to leave her. All Mia can feel is what she lost.

We cannot cheapen the depth of her grief by expecting Mia to be okay with her dad dying. Yes, he’s saving the world (and she is in the world), but Oliver didn’t need to save the city or the universe to be Mia’s hero. Nor can she accept the why because the result is the same.

Oliver missed Chrismukkah, trick or treating and birthdays. He missed snuggling on the couch and reading stories. He missed teaching Mia how to tie her shoes, ride a bike, shoot an arrow, defend herself or drive. Oliver missed comforting Mia when she was sad and sick. He missed making her laugh. He doesn’t know when Mia took her first steps, or her favorite food, or the name of her kindergarten teacher, or the grades she got in school, or the first boy who broke her heart. Oliver missed twenty years.

Mia didn’t lose a biological parent. She lost a man who loves her with every cell. Mia lost a man who would’ve shown up for her every day. She lost a man who would’ve protected, taught and loved her unconditionally. Mia Smoak Queen lost her DAD.

She’s supposed to what? Get to know Oliver? Mia’s supposed to accept all the stories Felicity told about her father were real, so the depth of her loss can be driven deeper because now she knows how wonderful he is?

Uhhh… pass. It’s easier for Mia to hate him. Of course, it’s easier.

It wouldn’t be a Queen family reunion without a little physical violence. Mia threatens to throw down with Daddy if he doesn’t get out of her way. Honestly, letting her get a couple good swings in Oliver might be highly therapeutic. I clearly didn’t study psychology, but I’m just here thinking my thoughts.

Oliver must be “some guy in her way” because the alternative, letting her father all the way in only to lose him again, it’s unbearable for Mia at this point.

Source: miasmoakdaily 

Oliver decides to try harder with Mia after William harnesses his light, which means FATHER/DAUGHTER IN THE FIELD TIME! 

Oliver’s protective dad mode is fully activated, but Mia has other plans. She’s about to take Grant Wilson out when Oliver ties him up with an arrow rope. Undeterred, she switches a knife for an arrow and takes aim.

Oliver calls out to Mia in his deep, growly Arrow voice, which gets her attention because it’s scary and it gets everybody’s attention.  IT’S STERN DADDY TIME! YASSS!!!  

Oliver physically steps in front of Grant Wilson because this is road he has gone down and as long as there is breath in his body he will not watch his daughter go down it too. 

This is what is so satisfying about Oliver Queen's story. 

He has learned from his mistakes and can be the hero, and father, his daughter needs now. 

Mia can hate him all she wants, but Oliver will not let her kill anyone.

Mia listens because what she needs more than anything right now is her dad. It’s a real and honest moment between the two where Oliver uses everything he’s learned to help Mia make the right decision. And Mia, whether she can admit it or not, wants to learn from Oliver. He earns being her dad by being her dad.

Stick a fork in me because I AM DONE. Do you know this moment is everything? Because it is EVERYTHING. First, Mia may not let Oliver hug her, but she lets him ask if she’s okay and even answers. This, my friends, is what we call progress. Mia also has to know Oliver’s history and she doesn’t want her father to think she didn’t have the stones to kill someone.

But it’s what Oliver said in return that is so meaningful because he knows after killing someone all that is left are the dark questions that haunt you. Did I do the right thing? What kind of person does this make me?

Of all the terrible holes Oliver had to crawl out of, this was his darkest. This was the secret Oliver feared was true. This lie was so easy to believe because Oliver blamed himself for Robert’s death. What kind of person kills their own father? What kind of person keeps killing? It was so frightening for Oliver to confront that he lost Felicity to avoid it.  Then it was forced out of him only after being tortured for days by Adrian Chase.

Mia would’ve killed Grant Wilson because she thought it was necessary. She believed it would serve the greater good and save lives. But it doesn’t mean Mia would’ve enjoyed killing Grant Wilson. It doesn’t mean she is undeserving of love, unforgivable or irredeemable. It doesn’t mean Mia is a monster.

The questions are already haunting Mia. Oliver can see it in her eyes, but he has the answers for her. Oliver tells his daughter who she is and Mia knows he truly sees her. And her wall starts to come down.

Source: oliverxfelicity

This show began as a story between father and child and, for better or worse; this is where it will always return. Arrow is about family, generational sin and atonement. It will always come back to Robert Queen.

Oliver takes Mia to her grandfather’s grave because this is where the violence, loss and guilt all began. It swallowed Oliver whole for so many years. It was an agonizing hole to climb out of.  He wants Mia and William’s life to be better. Oliver didn’t truly understand his father until after he was dead. He wants it to be different with his children.

Source: oliverxfelicity

Mia’s journey started with the “death” of her father. Just like Robert. Her mother is “gone.”  Just like Moira.  Zoe died protecting Mia. She was the hero Mia was trying so hard to be. Just like Tommy. Mia made a decision and it cost someone their life. Just like Shado.  

And on and on it goes. All that’s left is the crippling guilt of survival.  

All Oliver can offer Mia is the truth.

It’s a truth he’s learned the long, hard and painful way.

“This guy's walking down a street when he falls in a hole. The walls are so steep, he can't get out. A doctor passes by, and the guy shouts up, "Hey you, can you help me out?" The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a priest comes along, and the guy shouts up "Father, I'm down in this hole, can you help me out?" The priest writes out a prayer, throws it down in the hole and moves on. Then a friend walks by. "Hey Joe, it's me, can you help me out?" And the friend jumps in the hole. Our guy says, "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here." The friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before, and I know the way out." – Leo McGarry, West Wing

Oliver knows the way out of the hole Mia is in because he’s been there before. Her father reaches for his daughter’s hand and she reaches back.  Oliver had to find his light these past eight years, so he could be the light for his children. Hopefully, her father can make Oliver journey a little easier and a little brighter for Mia.  That’s all any parent wants to do for their children.

Source: olivergifs

Oliver makes his world famous Monte Cristo for William. 

He introduces Mia to them the same way Felicity introduced William to these delectable late night snacks. 

Down to the freaking mannerisms. Well done Ben Lewis.

These are the kind of stories Mia heard, but never experienced. These are the moments she and Oliver missed. The moments neither of them thought they’d ever get back.

The wall comes down. Not all the way, but enough. Mia lets her dad make her a snack. And begins their second chance.

Source: olicitygifs

Diggle and Connor

I said last week it’ll be interesting how Diggle reacts to a son he doesn’t even know he’s going to have. Well… it was a lot like this in the beginning.

Ouch. Sorry Connor. In Diggle’s defense this is a mind blower and the kids don’t know when they’ve landed. Connor doesn’t understand why his father can’t recognize him as a son, but Diggle hasn’t adopted him yet. The last time Diggle this child’s perfect face was when he saved Connor and Sandra, his mother.

The whole custody issue is problematic and John has to download a lot of information, with some sobering realizations, to comprehend what happened. Put it this way. If you discovered you have a kid that you didn’t know about it would take more than a few minutes to sink in.

It does eventually sink in, but Diggle and Connor are still a little uncomfortable around each other. Unfortunately, Mama Lyla is unavailable to serve as wing man during the uncomfortable getting-to-know-you phase. Diggle offers a very sweet, “We always wanted a brother for JJ.” HOW ABOUT A SISTER? (side eyes Barry Allen).

Connor responds to Diggle’s attempt at bonding by lying through his teeth about JJ. Sure, Dad we’re best friends. No Diggle brother curse in the future? Noooope.

Although, from Connor’s perspective, John’s remark could be taken from a slightly different slant. Diggle’s first real moment of warmth was connected to JJ, his biological son. The son he has a relationship with already. John is leaning into what he knows as he navigates this new relationship - not unlike what Oliver is doing with William and Mia.

But John must look at Connor through a JJ lens in order to act paternal towards him. Diggle didn’t do anything wrong and he certainly didn’t mean anything by it, but this doesn’t put Connor at ease. Particularly since he almost murdered the only son Diggle knows and loves. It’s easy to see why he’s keeping that information close to the chest.

Dinah hears through the door Connor calling Grant Wilson JJ, which is a pretty weak plot point, but it gets us where we need to go. Connor tries to cover his lies by telling Dinah she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but we get a very stern Papa Diggle in response.

John: Then you tell me Connor.

This is the first glimpse we’ve seen of John being the firm disciplinarian who holds his sons accountable for each other’s actions. It was hard to imagine Diggle this way when JJ and Connor were reminiscing about their childhoods, but David Ramsey made me believe it in one line.

This is the father Connor knows. Nothing like a little parental authority to make a kid crumble like dominoes. He comes clean and we get a little history too. Grant Wilson did bring the Deathstroke gang to Star City, but JJ eventually inherits the leadership position and is the craziest of all the cray.

Rene is understandably heartbroken over Zoe, in a rage over JJ, and a little pissed off at John. I’m always uncomfortable when this show makes me sympathize with any member of NTA, but here we are, nonetheless. 

Diggle just found out his son is a murdering psychopath, so it hasn’t been a great day for him either. However, it seems Diggle is the only one who watched Back to the Future and believes this horror show we affectionately call the Flash Forwards can change. It could even be the reason why the Monitor sent the children to the present. Jesus, let it be true.

The writers wouldn’t have brought it up if they weren’t going to change some things about the future. I still don’t think we’ll avert the twenty-year separation. (Can the writing gods be that kind?) But Present Team Arrow will help Future Team Arrow become better heroes. Zoe will survive and JJ, by not killing Zoe, will become a redeemable villain. I’m sure some other stuff will change too, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Connor: It was like I stole the love that should have been his.

UGH. Kiddo that is so not how parenting works. Connor is overwhelmed with guilt over JJ and completely blames himself for his actions. It’s not difficult to understand why he feels this way. This is how John raised them. When one brother did something wrong the other was held accountable. But now Connor and JJ are flipped from their childhood. The “good brother” became the “bad brother” and vice versus.

Diggle: What do you want me to say?

Oof. 

This is not Diggle’s best parenting moment, but let’s juts call a spade a spade. The reason why Diggle is not acting like a father to Connor is because he doesn’t feel like his father. John and Lyla haven’t adopted Connor yet. Diggle doesn’t know him. The stranger standing before him now has lied from minute one about the only son he does know.

He has a nice heart to heart with Dinah once he’s calmed down. It took John all of 5 seconds to draw the Andy comparisons, so he’s just piling one guilt on top of another and blaming himself. Hmm… I wonder if that’s where Connor gets it from?

Dinah: Knowing what’s happened can either destroy us or save us. We’ve seen our worst. Now let’s be our best.

Damn. This is a seriously great speech. Holy crap I enjoyed a Dinah moment. I can’t remember the last time that happened. 

If you think this series is ending with the future destroyed and everyone being their worst then I’ve taught you nothing. Follow the yellow brick road. We’re almost home.

Diggle can finally see through his anger and pain when he watches Connor at his best. John can finally see who Connor is when he defuses the bomb.He sees Connor’s intelligence, composure selflessness and bravery. Diggle sees his son. And Connor is everything Diggle dreamed a son could be.

Diggle: You read to go home?

Connor: You don’t have to do that. I don’t want to be a reminder of everything bad that happened to JJ and to your family.

Source: Paige 

It’s everything Connor needed to hear and more. Father and son find their way to forgiveness and it’s a path to a second chance.  

And because Arrow loves us this means shirtless father/son training session. Well, half shirtless. This is the content I am here to see.

Source: Paige

L*urel L*nce

L*urel goes with Mia on recon so she doesn’t slug her dad in the face. She also knows Mia is going to kill Grant Wilson.

L*urel: Clearly no one has informed you that I used to play for team villain. And I can spot a murderous intent a million miles away.

Is L*urel’s background and history being used for a plot point in a way that makes total and absolute sense? The mind reels at the possibility.

Mia’s reasoning for killing Grant Wilson is sound. They tried locking him up in the future, but he always escapes which helps earn his cult status and JJ’s admiration. Mia believes if she kills Grant Wilson then Zoe will live. The guilt she feels over Zoe’s death is too much to bear. She will do absolutely anything to fix it – even if it costs Mia her soul.

Damn… I wonder where I’ve heard this story before.

L*urel knows a thing or two about vengeance and tries to reach Mia by explaining how Felicity was once in a similar position. L*urel talked her out of killing Ricardo Diaz and SAVED THE DAY!

I’m not gonna say anything. It’s fine. Inaccuracies happen all the time in this show. I can let this go

No, I can’t let this go. 

This isn’t exactly how things went down with L*urel, Felicity and Diaz. Yes, L*urel gave Felicity a similar “once you let the darkness in it never comes out” speech in early Season 7. However, she wasn’t overly vexed about Felicity doing some violence. In fact, she was damn near proud of her every time Felicity crossed a line. And L*urel was right there with her. when she did.

Nor was L*urel the reason Felicity didn’t kill Diaz. The first time she pointed a gun at Diaz was when she finally captured him. Felicity was about to pull the trigger when Laurel came in and said she made a deal with the Feds. Oliver would be released from prison if he helped the FBI with their case against Diaz. Yes, L*urel told Felicity she didn’t want to kill Diaz, but she was not the reason Felicity put that gun down. Oliver was.

The second and final time Felicity threatened to kill Diaz she convinced herself. Felicity realized he was no longer a threat. She decides not to kill Diaz because she’s stronger than him. Felicity Smoak is a BAMF and nobody gets to take this moment from her.

I’m not saying L*urel doesn’t deserve any credit. She does, but in typical arrogant BC form she beats the self-congratulatory drum too loud and makes herself the sole savior of Felicity Smoak. No, honey. Not even close.

It’s also frustrating because I wish it was Felicity telling this story to her daughter and not LL. Just one of the many “It sucks that Emily wasn’t in the episode” moments. 

Source: dcladies

At least L*urel recognizes Felicity and Mia are not “women who allow themselves to be talked out of anything.” But this statement negates the “Because I talked her out of it” nonsense she was spewing 15 seconds earlier. Sigh. So close yet so far.

Can we just have one episode where this character makes total and absolute sense? Just one episode we hit on all L*urel cylinders. An episode she feels relevant, doesn’t act like a judgmental, hypocritical, ungrateful asshole, and her history isn’t blatantly ignored for the sake of plot contrivance, and doesn’t contradict herself every five seconds? It would just be nice.

 Stray Thoughts

Nothing makes me sadder than the director choosing a more toned-down delivery of Ben Lewis’, “Excuse me what year is it?” than the one in the promo because the line in the promo was hysterical.

Dinah wonders why The Monitor didn’t bring L*urel back to Star City too - once again highlighting how annoyed The Monitor is she’s still alive and how inconsequential she is to any of his plans. Snort.

To be fair, (because I am for neutral reporting here and Something To Live For) Rene wonders why The Monitor didn’t bring Zoe and JJ back. He probably would have if she wasn’t dead and JJ wasn’t evil.

Connor’s, “Hey are you okay?” to Mia was so soft and nearly identical in tone to whenever Oliver says “Hey” to Felicity, which this means he wants all the babies with her. That’s the maths.

Did they blow up the doctor?

Oliver bragging William is a billionaire to Rene was the cutest to ever cute.

“You’d be proud.” William’s emotional double meaning requires beaucoup de tissues. Yeah, I’m tossing some French you’re way. Gotta keep things fresh.

“Ugh. Curtis. I did not miss you. Not even a little bit.” From my notes watching live.

I feel like this Councilman Rene thing kind of came out of nowhere in the present time, but I’m not actually invested in it so whatever.

“I cannot believe that is your son. I can however definitely believe that is your daughter.” Okay, this was funny and only made funnier by Oliver’s annoyance. Curtis is there for a hot minute and already bugging him. Dude so much same.

Yes, canaries are plural Dinah. Nobody is happy about it.

The Canary set up for the spin off was LAME.

Connor: There’s a Canary network in the future.

Dinah & L*urel: Let’s eat French fries dipped in milkshakes (trademark LL bonding) and create a Canary network.

Soooo… killing Vinny isn’t a thing anymore? When did that not become a thing? Dinah and L*urel have barely spoke this season and now they are besties? I see shoehorning canaries into plot because of contractual obligations will continue in the spin off. Yippee.

“At least we didn’t die.” Oliver Jonas Queen, God gave you a daughter just like you because He is a just and fair God.

I cannot call it Original Team Arrow because they are missing an original member so it’s Present Team Arrow until Felicity’s return.

“I’m not exactly a big fan of your father’s. He’s kind of a dick.” Should’ve let her fry, Oliver.

“John, we’re good. You too, Connor. I can’t be mad at either of you for something I will never let happen.” WHY ARE ALL THE CHARACTERS MAKING SENSE AND SAYING THINGS I LOVE? I’M SCARED HOLD ME.

I am Oliver. My twenty-something friends are William. LOL Source:  felicitysmoak

How has Mia not watched The Shawshank Redemption?

"Mom really liked playing fast and loose with the fourth amendment huh?" WILLIAM’S. BEST. LINE. EVER.

They brought in Curtis to usurp William's skills. Yup, he really is Felicity 2.0.

Has Mia been wearing a Green Arrow suit the whole season and I never noticed or was she just in really great leather this week? I can’t tell on my TV screen.

OMG this moment gave me LIFE. I will be abusing that gif of William. Source:  arrowdaily

If Connor learned what an intervalometer bomb is from John then did John learn it from Connor? Wrap your noodle around that time travel mind bender.

Mia’s hair was so extra this week. Source:  miasmoakdaily

All I wanted this entire episode was for Mia, William and Oliver to bake cookies. So I will take payment in the form of Monte Cristos. I’m getting my way a lot this season, so I would also like to ask the Arrow writers for a million dollars. Thanks a bunch.

“Or we make our own hope.” Deathstrokes are off the board for the time being.  The future is getting a second chance too. You can’t hear me but I’m singing the times they are a-changin’

A very special thanks to Muriel for editing all the gifs. You are a live saver and I am so grateful for your help!

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me. 8x04 gifs credited.

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

[asterythm]

and maybe one day i’ll get around to fixing myself, too.

Pairing: platonic LAMP/CALM

Word count: 8k

Summary: Patton’s getting real sick of this.

Warnings: crying, sickness, nightmares, fainting, blood mention, injury/burn mention, knives (of the kitchen variety), food mentions, one (1) word written in caps lock, probably about a million emdashes, whump with a happy ending. 

AO3

--- --- ---

The mindscape was clean out of Kleenex. 

Ah, thought Patton, moments before promptly bursting into tears.

--- --- ---

Approximately half an hour later, as Patton wiped down a pair of tear-stained glasses with the hem of his shirt, the thought occurred to him that he may be slightly more ill than he'd first thought.

Not that it really mattered at this point. Logan hadn’t left his room in days; Virgil, his bed; Roman was borderline delirious already. What with all four of them having somehow managed to fall sick at the same time, someone had to take responsibility. And seeing as Patton was currently the only one who could stay awake for more than five minutes at a time, that someone might as well be — 

“Achoo!”

— him.

Patton sniffled, instinctively reaching for the tissue box before remembering what had caused his breakdown in the first place. 

He frowned. Over the past few days, that box had grown to become his dearest friend; Patton scarcely went anywhere without bringing it along. They had bonded! Something about throwing it out so carelessly, like nothing more than a worthless object... it just rubbed — 

“Achoo!”

Rubbed him the wrong — 

“Achoo!”

Frown deepening, Patton mentally added 'replace tissue box' to his ever-growing list of things to do.

Gosh, if only Logan were here. How much simpler managing the mindscape would be with one of those handy-dandy schedules the logical Side always seemed to have on hand (pun intended)! Patton had tried to write up a few of his own in Logan's absence, but it just wasn't the same. 

So here he was, stuck struggling to remember everything at once. Tidy the living room. Wipe down the counters. Hang the laundry out to dry. Patton ticked the items off one by one on his fingers as he ran through the familiar list. He was forgetting something, wasn't he? Replace the tissues. Wash the dishes in the sink. Make sure the others are drinking enough... Aha, that was it!

Patton was a little wobbly as he made his way into the kitchen, but managed to fill three glasses of water without once coughing into any of them — at this point, that was a win in his book. The hard part would be delivering them to the others.

At first, he tried carrying the cups on a makeshift cutting-board-turned-serving-tray. It took about two steps to realize that wasn’t going to work. His sense of balance was already poor enough when he wasn’t also dealing with a nasty cough, full-body chills, and a headache intense enough to make the room spin. “I may be a glass half full kind of guy, but sometimes you just gotta know when it’s time to drop it,” he said (out loud for some reason), followed by a solid minute of giggling.

Wow, he thought once he’d recovered enough to form coherent thoughts again. I am really out of it today.

Having now washed his hands of the water puns — nope, try again. 

Having now gotten the water puns out of his system, Patton was ready to try a different angle. He left two cups on the table this time, opting instead to use both hands to carry just one. There’d be less spillage that way. For sure, it would take much more energy to make the trip up and down the painfully long spiral staircase (a result of Roman’s whimsy from a time when they were all more spritely) three times instead of one, but he couldn’t imagine an empty drinking glass would do anyone any good. 

Besides, Patton was willing to do just about anything if it meant helping the other Sides recover faster.

--- --- ---

The first trip he managed with relative ease; Patton entered Logan’s bedroom to find him sound asleep, as expected. Tiptoeing so as not to disturb his slumber, Patton quietly set the glass of water at Logan’s bedside table, where he’d be sure to see it if — when — he woke up. 

In the corner of the room, something began to buzz. Patton let out a tch when he saw what it was: an alarm clock that had apparently fallen off the bookshelf to bury itself deep into a pile of discarded clothing. Really, Logan — you’re still trying to get work done? In this state? He hurried to shut the alarm off before its muffled ringing could register in Logan’s illness-addled brain. Silly duck’s going to exhaust himself if he’s not careful.

The last thing Patton was expecting was to be unable to even locate the alarm. What had looked like nothing more than an innocent pile of fabric from across the room soon revealed itself to be an absolute mess of a garbage heap. The wrinkled polo shirts and ties were only the surface of the problem (literally); underneath them hid all manner of odds, bobs, hammers and tongs, metal scraps and fizzled-out lights and pages upon pages of crumpled-up notebook paper. Whatever this project of Logan’s was, it did not look simple.

Nor did it look at all organized, in fact, which was quite a contrast to Logan’s usual love of the methodical. It appeared the sickness was taking its toll.

Giving up on the alarm clock search for a moment, Patton peered around to spot even more things that were just slightly out of place. A book out of place on the shelf. A tie clip left on the dresser. A corner peeling off of the crooked periodic table poster on the wall. And, at the foot of Logan’s bed, several small cardboard boxes that hadn’t been tucked away. 

Patton squinted at the boxes. Thick black Sharpie lines were scrawled into the side of each one, labels for them all. One, he could identify as ‘Green LEDs’; the others were harder to see from where he was, but he was willing to bet they were storage boxes as well.

Just then, the alarm clock abruptly stopped ringing, prompting Patton to glance back down at the pile he was trying to sort through. A flash of colour caught his attention: a bright green sticky note. Patton unfolded it to see ‘don’t forget to sort the supplies’ scrawled hastily across the paper, with the last few letters in ‘supplies’ trailing off as if Logan had barely managed to scribble out his message before falling into bed.

Well, while Patton was here, perhaps he ought to lend Logan a hand. Separating stuff into boxes seemed easy enough, right? And this pile must be a tripping hazard. With that in mind, Patton got to work. 

Excruciatingly slow work. There was enough junk in that one pile to last Logan a lifetime, it seemed. Still, figuring out which little pieces went in which box did get easier over time, so he kept at it. 

Eventually, everything was in its place but the shirts and ties, which Patton folded and left on the ground for Logan to organize as he pleased when he was feeling well enough. That’s better. Clutter-free, just as Logan likes it.

Then, with that taken care of, Patton had to come face-to-face with an unpleasant truth: it was time for him to brave the stairs once more. 

On a regular day, he’d bound down two steps at a time, maybe even slide on the railing if he was feeling particularly energetic. Today, on the other hand, it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other, clinging to that same railing the whole way. 

The brief feeling of pride when he finally reached the bottom was quickly swallowed by the realization that he still needed to run (or rather climb) that gauntlet twice more. 

Patton grabbed the second cup of water with a groan. Let’s get this over with.

--- --- ---

The door to Virgil’s bedroom swung open with barely a whisper. Inside, rows and rows of cobwebs stretched from floor to ceiling between the door and where Virgil lay fast asleep — a veritable horror that would usually send Patton away screaming, but these days he was almost too tired to care. Covering the rim of the cup with the palm of one hand, Patton carefully picked his way through to Virgil’s bed, where he could at last drop off his cargo. 

He meant to leave immediately after that, not wanting to spend even a second longer than necessary lingering in the surely spider-infested room. Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far.

Patton’s hand was on the doorknob when it happened: without warning, Virgil began thrashing around in bed, violently enough to make Patton jump. Beads of sweat were breaking out on the poor anxious Side’s upper lip and forehead, the latter creased tightly in his distress, the former trembling in a silent scream. As Patton watched, Virgil’s movements grew more and more frenzied — bed sheets weaving between his legs, back arching, fingers clawing at some invisible foe...

Within the same instant, Patton was back at Virgil’s side. “Hey, hey, hey,” he comforted, “it’s okay. You’re safe. Papa Patton’s gonna protect you from the nasty night terrors, alright?” As Patton continued to make soft, soothing sounds, he gently took one of Virgil’s hands between his own, rubbing protective little circles with his thumb. “Shh. I’m right here. Shh.” 

Jeez, he’s really burning up . The temperature of Virgil’s hand alone was through the roof — no wonder he was so feverish. Still, Patton didn’t let go of that hand until his kiddo had fully calmed down.

Now what? As badly as he wanted to just get out then and there (the sooner he was away from the cobwebs, the better), Patton couldn’t very well abandon Virgil like this. Paternal instincts kicked in; before he even knew what he was doing, Patton had taken hold of the mess of blankets tangled at Virgil’s feet and was methodically fluttering it out until the fabric was smooth again. That taken care of, he gave the blanket one last swish before settling it oh-so-lightly overtop of Virgil’s sleeping form, tucking the edges in snugly to make sure the fit was more secure this time. A quick fluff of the pillows around Virgil’s head, and he was done. 

Satisfied at last, Patton stepped back to admire his handiwork. It was difficult to look away, really — Virgil, a shock of pale skin against the mountainous backdrop of dark blankets and pillows, seemed years younger in this state. Softer somehow. Especially without the usual eyeshadow darkening his eyes or the brooding expression darkening all his other features, he looked… vulnerable.

“Sleep tight, kiddo,” whispered Patton as the door clicked shut. 

Turning away, Patton breathed a sigh of relief. Two down, only one to go.  

--- --- ---

At first, Patton had hoped Roman would forgive him for saving the royalty for last. 

By the time he’d stumbled down and up the stairs again, though, Patton wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive himself for making himself take that trip three times in a row — he was just about ready to keel over on the spot. About halfway up, he’d been seized out of the blue by a coughing fit that took a lifetime for that to pass. 

Ironically, his symptoms only went downhill the higher he climbed. What began as a faint ringing in his ears eventually grew loud enough that he could hardly focus on anything else, and the more Patton tried to will away the dark spots crowding at the corners of his vision, the more persistent they became.

But the weight of the glass of water clasped securely in his hands had remained mostly unchanged throughout the entire hike. Still full. The water… is that really what I was doing? It seemed such a small thing now, to be at the root of all this misery.

But no — he couldn’t start doubting himself now, not when he was so close to being finished. Patton shut his eyes tight and gave his head a firm shake. That managed to clear away some of the dark spots, at least. Good enough.

“Okay… okay. I can do this,” Patton panted, sounding to his own ears even less confident than he felt. Yet still he pushed onward, determined to finish what he’d started. 

Every step felt like wading through a sea of molasses. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Right foot — no, left — no — 

Who am I kidding? I can’t do this.

In the middle of the hallway, Patton stopped, feeling an all-too-familiar tickle beginning to form in the back of his throat. No, no, no, no, no... He wasn’t sure he was capable of handling a repeat performance, especially not while he was still coping with the aftershock of the last one. Swallowing hard, Patton tried to force the cough down and keep moving.

It didn’t take long to figure out that ignoring the situation wasn’t going to be an option for him. The tickle was unbearable. Maybe if I could just clear my throat, Patton conceded, just lighten the pressure a bit…

That was all the permission his body needed. The thought had barely finished forming when the figurative frog in his throat came leaping out, doubling Patton over into one of the most painful hacking coughs he’d ever experienced. His chest felt like it was ripping to shreds. Blindly, he passed the drinking glass into one hand, then threw the other outward, feeling around for a wall on which he could steady himself.

Instead, his fingers gripped something warm. Sturdy, too. 

The coughing momentarily subsided as Patton’s brain struggled to make sense of this new development. His gaze traced down to his hand, which was hanging for dear life onto... someone’s shoulder.

“Thomas? Is that you?” the shoulder said.

Patton did a double-take. Not because a shoulder was talking to him — the shoulder wasn’t talking at all, actually; shockingly enough there was a head was attached to that shoulder and of course it was the head that had spoken really — but because the voice was so familiar, and yet its owner had no business being out and about right now. 

“...Roman?” Patton tried, tentative (his vision was still hazy).

“Roman,” the voice repeated, equal parts ponderous and absent-minded. “Huh, that’s a funny word. Roman. Roman.” Rolling the R’s: “Rrrroman. Rrrroamin’ the halls… stalking the halls, for the thrill of the kill. She’s the apex predator! Jungle rrrr-royalty! Watch out, everybody — this kitty’s got clawwwws.”

Yep, definitely Roman. 

Poor guy was rrrr-raving, though. Seeing his friend like this was just enough to snap Patton out of his own feverish state. In alarm, he exclaimed, “Roman, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting!” 

“Who, me? Oh, so I’m the Roman. What are you, then? Floman? Wait, no I’ve got it — Snoman!” Roman giggled hysterically at his own joke before suddenly breaking into raucous song. “Frosty the snowman...”

“Okay! Okay, okay, shh, okay,” interjected Patton, trying to speak over the singing. “Roman, you’ve got a lovely voice, but you’re sick right now , kiddo, you understand? And you’re going to hurt that voice and the rest of your body if you don’t take care of ‘em. So do your favourite snowman a favour and drink this for me.”

Patton tried to hand off the (somehow still mostly-full) glass of water to Roman then, but instead of taking it, Roman just stared in a mixture of confusion and fascination.

Patton sighed. “Alright, plan B. Sit down.” Keeping his grip on Roman’s shoulder firm, he carefully settled Roman down to the ground, back against the wall. 

A crooked smile. How long has it been since the last time I said this? 

“Here comes the airplane.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Roman’s own mouth opened obediently. Patton raised an eyebrow. Huh. I wasn’t expecting that to actually work.

Not that he was complaining. Sip by sip, he coaxed the water into Roman until the glass was empty, Roman’s clouded-yet-curious eyes peering up at him through lidded lashes the entire time. When he was finished, Roman made grabby hands. “More.”

“I can’t, bud, I’m all out.”

“More,” Roman insisted, voice scratching painfully. 

He’s probably been coughing that poor throat raw, too, hasn’t he? Patton realized. Figures he’d want more water. With a fond sigh, Patton gave Roman the now-empty glass. This seemed to placate him; as Patton helped him to his feet, he continued to hold tightly to the drinking glass as if it were a lifeline.

“I’ll bring you more for real once we get you to your bedroom,” promised Patton as he slung one of Roman’s limp arms over his own shoulder. Guiding Roman one step at a time, the two slowly hobbled back in the direction Roman had come, the thick silence occasionally punctuated with a sudden outburst which Patton quickly shushed. 

He hadn’t noticed at first, but Patton could feel the sick Side’s body shivering against him all the way. 

The short walk still proved exhausting to Roman, apparently; already half-asleep by the time they arrived, Roman didn’t waste any time dropping off into dreamland. Patton was left with the unenviable task of wrestling all of Roman’s many duvets, blankets, comforters, and accent pillows into some semi-functional-looking arrangement. 

As he did so, the mental image of Virgil caught in the middle of an awful night terror kept flickering through his mind. A twinge of guilt. While I’ve been over here feeling sorry for myself over a silly little cold, Patton realized, these three have been way worse off. Roman couldn’t even remember his own name! And Logan… Logan’s still working himself down to the bone. I should have realized sooner. I should have taken better care of them. Should have, should have, should have.

But I didn’t, did I?

Patton rose to his feet, gently pulled the empty drinking glass out of Roman’s grasp (who mumbled an incoherent protest, but let go without much resistance). Maybe it was silly to have gone through so much trouble just to make sure his three little sleepy-heads drank something, but it was what was best for them, and Patton would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Really, he would. He was going to have to at least three times a day, anyway, if he wanted the other Sides to recover anytime soon.

And oh, at this point, he’d really love nothing more. Then and there, listening to Roman’s softly rumbling snores, Patton made a resolution: Whatever the cost, if it helps you, I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you three.

“Hang in there, Roman,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be feeling better in no time.”

--- --- ---

Tidy the living room. Wipe down the counters. Hang the laundry out to dry. Wash the dishes in the sink.

Are the others still asleep?

Vacuum the kitchen. Sort the bookshelves. Prepare dinner. Check on Virgil. Check on Roman. Check on Logan.

Did I check on Virgil? Better check again just to be safe.

Power nap. Breakfast time.

Hang the laundry out to dry… no, it’s already out there .

Wash the dishes. Make sure the others are staying hydrated.

Logan hasn’t touched any of his food since yesterday. The others seem to be awake more often, though.

Power nap. Dust the mantelpiece. Power nap.

Shoot, that was definitely longer than a power nap.

Organize the medicine cabinet. Water the plants. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast. Lunch.

  When was the last time I tidied the living room?

--- --- ---

The strangest part was that Patton wasn’t cold at all. Quite the opposite, in fact; even the slightest of movements left him sweating nowadays, to say nothing of his twice-daily trips and up and down the stairs. Patton hadn’t had time to check his own temperature or anything, but was fairly certain he knew what the thermometer would tell him: burning up (and burning out).

So how come he couldn’t stop shivering?

Maybe I should ask Logan, Patton thought, before remembering that was out of the question. Sure, the others were doing much better recently, but Patton's promise had been to nurse them to full health, hadn't it? They needed their rest. He could handle a little shakiness in the meantime. 

Besides, it was probably just jitters from all the coffee he'd been drinking. After that time he'd accidentally slept through an entire afternoon, Patton had been fueling up on caffeine so as not to risk a repeat performance.

Speaking of which. He peered over the rim of his empty mug. Time for a refill. 

As he half-walked, half-stumbled into the kitchen, Patton mentally sifted through his list again. Had he washed the dishes after lunch? 

No sooner than the thought occurred to him, he could swear he could hear the kitchen faucet start to run; the sound of plates and utensils clinking soon followed. Patton's brow furrowed. He couldn't afford to be going insane right now — he didn't have the time.

Unfortunately, it seemed that was exactly what was happening to him. How else but a hallucination was he supposed to explain seeing Logan standing at the sink, rinsing off dishes that he could have sworn he'd already done?

Before Patton could react, Logan glanced up. He blinked. "What are you doing here, Patton?"

Patton's mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Were hallucinations supposed to be able to talk? I must be really far gone.

Perhaps the craziest thing of all, though, was the fact that Patton decided to talk back. "I think that's my line," he said without thinking.

Logan frowned. "I don't understand. We're not recording a video right now. To refer to our off-camera lives as if they were part of a pre-written dialogue simply does not make sense, unless I've been deeply misinformed for the past thirty years."

Okay, never mind. This was definitely the real Logan.

But then... that didn't make sense, either. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"'Supposed to be'...?" Logan turned the tap off, frustrated. "Alright, really. How have I been operating as a functional part of Thomas for so long without ever once hearing about this script?"

"No, no, there's no —" The rest of Patton's sentence was cut off with a sudden sneeze.

"Gesundheit. Wait, was that my line?" 

Patton shook his head. "There's no script, Logan, it was a figure of speech. I just meant that you need to rest. You're sick!"

"I was sick," Logan corrected him. "I'd hardly say that term still applies to my current state, thanks to you. You've been working so hard to take care of everything in our collective absence; if anyone should be resting, it's you."

Patton was about to argue when another voice cut him off. "Alright, what's all the fuss about?" asked Roman, coming in from the dining room with a feather duster in hand, but stopping short upon seeing Patton. "Pat! I was wondering where you went."

"Living room," was all Patton managed to get out.

"Ah, of course, silly me! Look, thank you so much for all you've done. Why don't you go lie down now? I believe Virgil's still feeling a little under the weather, but Logan and I can take it from here."

Patton stared, trying to spot anything that might give Roman away as a fake produced by his addled imagination, but there was nothing. And oh, it was so tempting, the idea of finally getting to relax. He imagined his bed, feather-soft after so many nights of sleeping on the couch; his collection of stuffed animals just waiting for him to come home. How lovely it would be to just curl up and drift away...

Then Logan winced. "Patton, I beg your pardon, but where did you put the Advil?" he asked. "I checked in the medicine cabinet but couldn't find it."

Just like that, Patton's dreams of dreaming were gone. 

Logan and Roman still needed his help; it would be selfish to abandon them now. No matter the cost, he'd promised, I'd do anything for you three.

His mind was made up. 

Feigning innocence, Patton smacked himself in the forehead. "Ah, shoot," he said. "I think I must have left it in Virgil's room. Here, I'll go get it."

Roman immediately spoke up. "Oh, absolutely not. It's time for you to go to sleep, Padre. You go to bed; I'll get it."

"That's awfully kind of you, but I'm the one who asked." It was Logan this time, his words still a little stilted as he ground them out from behind what was most likely a headache of some sort. "It would be irresponsible of me to not go myself."

"Oh, come on, calculator watch, you're in pain!"

"Not so much that I've been rendered unable to fend for myself!"

"Guys, please stop fighting," Patton tried to shout, but his voice came out barely above a whisper. Yet somehow it did the trick — two sets of apologetic eyes turned to look at Patton. "Look, at this point I kinda feel like it'd be simplest if you just went together and that was the end of it."

Logan looked like he was about to argue, but Patton shot him a stern look and his mouth shut meekly.

"Great, glad we're all in agreement then. Come on." Without waiting for an answer, Patton turned and hustled both of them up the stairs. Come on, come on, come on... It was excruciating, but he had to make it look like this was no sweat if his plan was going to work. 

The fact that Logan and Roman both had to take a break at the top only solidified Patton's resolve. If he'd had any doubts before, they were long gone now, replaced with one concrete goal: Get them somewhere they can rest.

"Alright, off to sleep I go," said Patton once he was satisfied that Logan and Roman would both hear it. "Thanks, guys."

"Anytime."

"Oh, and would you do me a favour? Could you please close Virgil's door when you're in there? I think there's a bit of a draft in the hallway and I don't want Virgil to get any worse." Which was the truth. (So what if everything else he'd been saying wasn't?) With that, Patton disappeared into his room.

He didn't go to bed, though — even though every bone in his body was screaming for him to. Instead, he pressed his ear against his wall and listened. A click, the shuffling of feet, and then another click as the door closed.

Patton didn't waste any time leaping into action then. Fast as his legs could carry him, he grabbed a chair and jammed it under Virgil's doorknob. A second chair soon followed, as well as a stack of boxes and a small table. He could hear a muffled commotion beginning inside as Logan and Roman realized they’d been barricaded inside. 

The doorknob rattled. Patton ran.

His feet moved fast, but his thoughts were faster still, and with every step they grew more and more muddled. Had he really just done that? Maybe this is going too far. 

On the other hand, Logan and Roman were only slowing down their own recovery by trying to “help out”. Patton had been handling things just fine by himself so far, after all; why try to fix what wasn’t broken?

He needed a distraction.

Luckily for him (or unluckily, depending on how you wanted to look at it), there was never any shortage of things to be done around the mindscape. For one, he still hadn’t prepared that chicken soup he’d been meaning to. No time like the present.

Again to the kitchen, as if in a dream. He just kept finding himself back here, didn’t he? 

Patton tried to grab a large stockpot off the shelves and nearly hit himself in the face. 

This thing is so much heavier than I remember, he thought, grunting. With a considerable amount of exertion, he lugged the pot over to the sink, then leaned against the wall to catch his breath as it filled up with water. Maybe I could close my eyes for just a second...

Patton woke to an overflowing stockpot and the taste of blood in his mouth.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Ignoring a splitting headache — he’d dealt with plenty of those over the past few days, one more was hardly going to faze him — Patton leapt to his feet to turn off the tap. A groan. He couldn’t believe he’d been careless enough to let something like this happen again. 

Lamenting the waste but left with no choice, Patton tipped the pot over and watched its contents swirl down the drain. Once that was finished, he carried the pot out of the sink, took a step, and immediately stumbled. Funny — the room was swirling, too.

Gosh, his head was killing him.

He’d probably hit it against the counter just now, maybe bit his tongue by accident too. At least that would explain why, after setting the pot of water on the stove to boil, Patton couldn’t for the life of him remember what came next.

What would Martha Stewart do? he wondered. Add vegetables? 

Vegetables seemed as good a guess as any. Celery, and garlic, and probably carrots too, except Patton did not care much for those and would rather keep the carrot-to-soup ratio to a minimum. He pulled one out of the fridge anyway, if only to fool himself into thinking he was doing the right thing.

Patton gripped a stalk of celery, preparing to chop, except suddenly the stupid shiver was back and the blade of his chopping knife slid off the stupid dumb vegetable and nicked his own stupid dumb idiot finger, and had those little red dots on the cutting board always been there? How come his finger hurt so much, too?

Patton gritted his teeth. Perfect. Just nifty. This was exactly the kind of stupid-dumb-idiot moron-thing he needed to deal with right now. 

Maybe, just for today, it’d be easier to break the vegetables by hand instead. 

With that thought, he tried to slide the knife back into its holder, but fumbled. In slow motion, the knife slipped out of his shaking hands; a loud clatter rang out as it fell to the floor, sharp blade narrowly missing chopping off one of his toes.

For several seconds Patton just stared, heart threatening to pump out of his chest but brain a little slower on the uptake. 

Then, to his own surprise, he began to laugh. 

All the confusion and adrenaline and exhaustion and hysteria of the past few days crashed together in an instant, and Patton couldn’t do anything but stand there and take it. He laughed until it hurt to breathe, until tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, until he had to grab onto the stovetop to support him in case he passed out for lack of air — he couldn’t stop. The pot was boiling over. He couldn’t stop. 

He wasn’t sure, but he thought someone might have been calling his name. Maybe it’s God, Patton’s feverish mind rather unhelpfully supplied. Maybe my time has finally come. That would explain why, the next time he blinked, it was suddenly as if he were looking down at himself from above. He watched as shaky laughs turned to desperate breaths turned to hacking and coughing and choking, turned to not breathing at all. He watched as already-pale skin turned even paler. Eyelids fluttered shut. Fingers released their iron grip, and knees buckled.

Three indistinct-yet-familiar faces came running down the stairs just in time to see his silently swaying body go crashing to the ground, and that was the last thing Patton got to watch before everything went very, very dark.

--- --- ---

Someone was snoring.

This was unexpected — first and foremost because Patton was sure he would remember inviting any of the others for a sleepover — but not entirely unpleasant. Lulled by the gentle rumble, Patton snuggled deeper into his blanket’s warm embrace and tried to reclaim the nice dream he’d been having a moment ago, even though he could tell he’d already been asleep a long time. He felt more refreshed than he could ever remember feeling.

Was today some kind of holiday? In his drowsy state, Patton couldn’t for the life of him remember the date. Ah, well. Either it was, or it wasn’t — and if it wasn’t, surely Logan would be coming by any second now to wake him up and make sure they stay on schedule. Patton couldn’t think of any other reason why he would have been allowed to sleep in for this long, let alone with a mystery person in the same room to boot. 

Speaking of… who might that be? 

Patton opened his eyes, but for a moment wasn’t quite sure that he had. His surroundings appeared just as dark as the insides of his eyelids. Add that to the list of unexpected things: had he not slept in, after all? But then why did he feel so well-rested? And what was this mystery person doing in his room in the middle of the night?

Sluggish though his brain was, Patton cast aside all hopes of sleep then in favour of trying to remember what might have happened yesterday to lead to this strange set of circumstances today. Memories started coming to him in bits and pieces then: a bright green sticky note marked with bold Sharpie lines, a veritable maze of cobwebs and clawing hands, the weight of an arm around his shoulders…

Oh, goodness. 

This was no holiday. Patton had slept for far too long. 

How long, though? How long have I left the three of them to fend for themselves? Patton wondered, fighting frantically now to extricate himself from the grip of the same sweat-soaked blankets he’d earlier been clinging to. He had to get out there, had to get back to work… Another memory stopped him short: he’d locked them into Virgil’s room. 

Patton sat bolt upright. I locked them into Virgil’s room!  

He regretted the abrupt movement less than a second later. A searing sensation shot through his left hand, which he’d instinctively used to push himself up, and the previously-dull ache in his chest was flaring up to match. At the sudden pain, Patton couldn’t help but let out an inadvertent yelp.

It was only after the snoring stopped that Patton remembered there was someone else here, too. 

He barely had time to process the thought before the mystery person was on their feet, probably on high alert. Patton’s good hand shot up to cover his mouth, as if silence would somehow render the mystery person unable to find him in this tiny enclosed space.

A hushed voice.

“Are you… awake?”

In the dark, Patton blinked. “Virgil?”

His mind was racing a mile a minute trying to keep up with all these new revelations. Why was Virgil in his room? Why was Virgil asleep in his room? Why was Patton asleep in his room, instead of out there making dinner like he could have sworn he’d been doing before? No, that last one was silly — it was clearly past dinnertime, if the darkness surrounding them both was any indication.

Still. Why was Virgil in his room?

Patton opened his mouth, unsure where to start but desperately needing to put a voice to some of the confusion. Before he could get even a single word out, though, Virgil cut him off.

“Oh my g — Patton, you’re back!” Virgil said, volume rising in his excitement. “You’re back, you’re — you’re talking to me!” 

Patton’s intelligent response: “Uh. Yup.”

“I — sorry, I just... I can’t believe you’re finally awake. You really scared me there.” Virgil’s voice was a little quieter now. “Scared all of us.”

“What do you…?” Patton paused as the full implication of his friend’s words set in. “Virgil, how long have I been sleeping?”

The silence went on for just a second too long before Virgil spoke, this time the quietest of all. “A little over a week now.”

Patton’s mouth went dry. 

No way. Was that even possible?

“Yeah, you were out like a light. Roman was maybe a second away from stabbing you just to get a response.” Virgil swallowed hard. “Hell, Pat, for a moment I almost thought you… weren’t gonna wake up at all, you know?”

“Gosh, Virgil, I’m sorry,” was all Patton could get out. 

“Hey, no, don’t be,” Virgil hurried to backtrack. He huffed out a laugh; too shaky to be convincing, but Patton appreciated the effort. “Ugh, just listen to me going on like this. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you in the first place. You’re here now, aren'tcha?”

“I guess,” said Patton, slowly at first. “But why did it have to be here specifically?” 

“What?”

He gestured at the door (or in its general direction; it was still too dark to see clearly). “I should be out there, Virge! I should be helping! It’s like you said, I’ve been asleep for more than a week while all of you guys were worrying over me. All I ever wanted was to make this stupid fever easier on you, and look how that backfired —” 

“Hey, I’m gonna stop you right there. Look at me.”

Patton sniffled. “I can’t, it’s pitch black in here.”

“...right. One sec.” As Virgil spoke, Patton could hear him busily fumbling around trying to find something. 

Moments later, a flood of daylight assaulted his senses, bright enough to blind him (or at least give him a killer headache, but what else was new?). Patton shrieked like a thing possessed.

“Virgil, what the heck? I thought it was midnight or something!”

“Nope,” replied Virgil, returning to what Patton could now see was a folding chair set up next to Patton’s bedside. The same chair he’d used to block the rest of the Sides into Virgil’s room, Patton realized with a guilty start. “4:00 PM, according to that clock above your bed. You’ve just got really nice light-blocking curtains in here. D’you think you could hook me up sometime?”

“But you were asleep!” 

“Yeah, I’ve been waiting here for some time. My hibernation instincts kicked in.” That just raised even more questions, but Virgil waved them away. “Not the point. Now look at me.”

Patton looked. What he saw was an exhausted, unnaturally pale young man with eyeshadow several shades darker than usual. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“Someone who cares about you just as much as you care about them, Patton,” was the reply. “Listen, while Roman and Logan and I were sick, you took responsibility for everything. You were juggling so many things at once, and honestly it’s kind of unbelievable that you managed to go for as long as you did without dropping any of them. But the truth is, that’s just not healthy. You ended up overworking yourself so much, you literally passed out because of it. Not to mention what happened to your hands.”

“My hands?” Patton repeated. “What do you…?”

The rest of his question died on his lips once Patton looked down. His brain must be even hazier than he’d thought, because once he saw the fresh white gauze carefully wrapped around both palms, he had no idea how he’d managed to miss them. 

Patton didn’t quite understand until another memory pushed to the surface: him clinging to a heated stovetop, boiling water spilling over the sides of a stockpot. 

Suddenly, the burning pain he’d felt when he’d pushed himself up earlier made a lot more sense.

But something still didn’t add up. “Who’s been changing my bandages?” Patton asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer. 

Virgil’s silence only confirmed his suspicions. 

It was him. Of course, it was him.

“Doesn’t matter,” the anxious Side finally said. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s your turn to rest. You deserve it. Let us do the work for a change, okay?”

“But —”

“No buts. Or else I’m gonna get Roman and Logan in here, too.”

“You don’t need to —”

“Too late, I’m already doing it.” Never once breaking eye contact with Patton, Virgil leaned out the door to shout downstairs. “Hey, losers! Patton’s awake!”

“What?!” Roman’s voice distantly shouted back.

“Virgil, really, I’m not worth the trouble — ”

“And he’s talking bad about himself!”

Logan this time, at near-’falsehood’ levels of volume: “WHAT?!”

A loud crash, as of a dinner plate shattering. Patton winced. No time to worry about that now, though; he could hear urgent footsteps threatening to pound right through the stairs if someone wasn’t careful.

Logan was the first to arrive. The huffing and puffing stopped short, as did his movements, once he caught sight of Patton sitting up in bed. 

“Patton, I…”

Despite everything Logan might say to the contrary, behind his thick glasses, dark eyes brimmed with all manner of emotion. For once in his life, the eloquent Side appeared to have been rendered speechless. Silence stretched for an instant.

The instant didn’t last long. 

Next thing either of them knew, Roman was blazing into the room, recklessly shoving Logan aside in his quest to reach Patton and envelop him in the most bone-crushing bear hug he’d ever received. 

“Woah,” wheezed Patton. 

“Oh, thank Madonna,” was Roman’s response, sobbed out into the nape of Patton’s neck as he squeezed even tighter. Patton let out a squeak.

“Hey, Roman? This is great and all but you’re kind of crushing me so if you could loosen up just a bit so I could breathe thatwouldbe great — ”  

“Right, I’m sorry.” Reluctantly, but just in time, Roman released his still-fragile friend. Down went Patton, breath coming in little wheezes that would be almost comical if it weren’t for how uncomfortably familiar they felt.

Roman opened his mouth to continue his thought. Logan shot him a glare. “At least wait until his lips are less blue,” he hissed.

“No, it’s alright,” Patton managed to say. “Go ahead, Roman, don’t worry about me.”

A sigh. “Hate to break it to you, but I think it might be too late for that.” Roman seemed uncertain of where to put his hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re okay. You wouldn’t believe how relieved I am! But still, we were all so worried about you.”

Taking care not to disturb the bandages, Patton pushed himself back up to a sitting position so he could give Roman a sympathetic look. “Aw, Ro.”

“Would you mind if I… hugged you again? Gently.”

In response, Patton opened his arms. And oh, Roman hadn’t been lying — this time, he embraced Patton gingerly, his touches if at all, as if Patton was a delicate butterfly and even the slightest pressure would snap one of his wings.

His heart broke. Did Roman not know how safe he felt in the creative side’s arms? Yes, he’d seen those arms slay dragons, but he’d also seen them weaving flower crowns and adding finishing brushstrokes to paintings and bringing nectar to hummingbirds, and all manner of equally delicate things. 

Don’t worry, Patton wanted to say. I trust you.

But Roman pulled away before he had the chance.

“I really am glad to see you awake, Patton,” he murmured into Patton’s ear, thumb still softly tracing circles on Patton’s shoulder — until, without warning, his grip tightened and Roman pulled back to look at Patton with an intensity he’d never seen before. 

“Roman?”

“Listen to me,” Roman demanded in response. His eyes seemed to be boring right into Patton’s. “Don’t you dare do that again. Ever.”

Patton’s forehead wrinkled. “Do what?”

“Prioritize our health at the cost of neglecting your own.” Although quiet and controlled, the sound of Logan’s voice momentarily startled Patton; the logical Side had been patiently standing off to the side for so long, they’d all forgotten he was even there. “Patton, I appreciate that you were only trying to help, but there is a fine line between selfless and self-sacrificial. And you crossed it.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Patton, lips twisting off to the side in an uneasy frown.

But Logan wasn’t finished. “You may have thought you were doing us a favour by refusing to allow us to assist you. But at that point, when we were clearly in a better condition than you, your actions only put all of us at risk.”

“Hey, teach? Maybe dial it back a bit?”

Logan didn’t appear to have heard Virgil. He absently pushed his hair back with one hand, which then rested on the back of his head. “Do you know how frightening it was to see you reduced to a — a heap on the floor? Do you realize what could have happened had Roman’s sword not been strong enough to chop through the barricade you made at our door?”

“Logan,” Virgil repeated, more firmly this time.

 “Your job is to serve as Thomas’s Morality.” Both hands were buried deep in his hair now. “You can’t do that if you’re — ”

“I’m sorry,” Patton breathed.

Logan caught himself, glanced over to see Patton wearing an expression Logan could only describe as being akin to that of a kicked puppy. Oh, no.

“I just… you all were so much worse off than me. The only one who could even get out of bed was Roman, and if you’d seen him wandering around like I did, not even remembering his own name, you’d be worried too!” Patton drew in a breath, gingerly pulling his arms in towards his body and refusing to look at the already-worried faces his friends wore around him. “It felt so selfish, the idea of taking a break while you three so obviously needed help.”

Above his head, Logan glanced at first Virgil, then Roman. Someone ought to say something. But seeing as both Virgil and Roman appeared to be struggling for words, that someone ought to be —

He heaved a sigh.

— him.

Taking care not to jostle Patton too much, Logan lowered himself down onto the mattress and laid a hand on Patton’s back, right where he himself had often felt the moral Side’s comforting touch after straining his eyes on a laptop screen late into the night. Patton flinched a bit, but didn’t pull away.

When he spoke, it was with a voice gentler than any of them had ever heard Logan use. “It’s never selfish to ask for help.”

On the other side of Patton, Logan felt rather than saw Roman nod. “I’m with Pouty McSpecs over here,” he said, perhaps trying to lighten the mood a bit. “As the late, great Ms. Frizzle once said: Do not be afraid to ask for help. Nobody gets through college on their own.”

Logan blinked. “That... was Michelle Obama.”

“Yeah, there were so many things wrong with that statement I’m not even gonna try and unpack it all,” Virgil agreed.

“I’m pretty sure it was the Friz.” Roman shook his head. “Anyway, not the point. You see what we’re saying, right, Patton? You won’t be able to take care of anyone if you’re not properly taking care of yourself first.” He gestured to Patton’s injured hands. “I mean, all this for a bowl of broth?”

“Not the time, Princey.”

“Sorry.”

“Speaking of time.” Virgil rose to his feet with a stretch. “I think it’s time for us to leave you be. You still need your rest.” 

Patton opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off with a yawn so long he couldn’t remember what he’d meant to say by the time it was finished. Already-flushed cheeks grew even redder with embarrassment.

“I rest my case.” He turned to the others. “Come on, I’m pretty sure someone’s got a shattered dinner plate to clean up.”

Roman flinched. “Ah. That.” 

“Yeah, that. Let’s move!” As Virgil shooed Roman and Logan out of the room, he snuck one last glance back at Patton, who had a lopsided smile on his face, crooked in the most genuine of ways, as if biting back a laugh as he settled himself back down under his bedsheets and snuggled in tight.

Something fluttered in Virgil’s chest. Warm, it felt, and light and fuzzy and — and inexplicable, until he realized: it was the first time he’d seen Patton smile in weeks.

Patton was alright. Everything was going to be alright.

“Sleep tight, pops,” whispered Virgil as the door clicked shut.

 --- --- ---

A/N: i set out to write a 2k vent fic in a day and ended up writing this exclusively in half-hour chunks over the course of three weeks. whoops. but i mean, here we are — and here you are, having read all the way to the end, so… leave a comment maybe? :’)

Taglist (not sure if this’ll work since this is a scheduled post but eh, worth a shot): @surleytemple @starryfirefliesbloggo @icecoldparadise @lyditist @fandom-random2405 @beach-fan @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @starryeyedhomicide @unring-this-bell @flix-net @pheonix-inside @thelowlysatsuma @residentanchor @sanderstalker