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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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I love your story with LW and JC raising LS! Do you plan on writing more?

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2

“So, I have a problem,” Jiang Cheng said, bursting into the room.

Sometimes Lan Wangji wondered if Jiang Cheng had ever heard of any other way to enter a room. Through the window, perhaps, since clearly walking wasn’t seen as a valid alternative.

“Just one?” he asked, not looking up from where he was repositioning A-Yuan’s hand on the guqin.

“No, I – hey!”

A-Yuan giggled, and that made Jin Ling, currently nestled in blankets next to the guqin, giggle as well, and predictably, Jiang Cheng forgot all else in front of such adorableness, immediately crouching down to make faces at Jin Ling.

“Your problem?” Lan Wangji prompted after a few moments.

“Ah..? Oh! Yes. Remember how I got into a fight with – what’s his name, that idiot?”

Lan Wangji pointedly remained silent. Jiang Cheng got into any number of fights, given his temper, and those were only the ones he told Lan Wangji about – and he wasn’t always reliable on that score, either.

The doctor that came to visit every week was not given to gossip, as Jiang Cheng had promised, but his assistant who waited outside the door, never entering, sometimes said things.

Disturbing things, sometimes.

Lan Wangji had not yet found a way to ask Jiang Cheng if he really did capture and torture demonic cultivators to death – mostly because he didn’t know what he’d do if the answer was ‘yes’.

He knew Jiang Cheng believed that Wei Wuxian had been corrupted by demonic cultivation into something unrecognizable, that he believed it was his own fault for not having stopped him sooner, that he thought it was his responsibility to stop demonic cultivators before other innocent people suffered the way he had because of Wei Wuxian; he knew that Jiang Cheng both longed and feared any success in finding Wei Wuxian’s spirit, wanting desperately to have any hint of him again and yet terrified by the possibility that it had been Wei Wuxian, in the end, that had destroyed him utterly. There were many flaws in his thinking, but without that defense mechanism, Jiang Cheng’s psyche would collapse.

When Jiang Cheng was a little steadier, he’d bring it up, Lan Wangji promised himself. When things were a little calmer.

Soon.

“Right, right, I fight with too many to count,” Jiang Cheng said, grimacing. The expression made Jin Ling giggle again, as if it had been made to amuse him, and that lifted Jiang Cheng’s mood a little. “The one who called me a filthy cutsleeve that shouldn’t be allowed around children.”

Lan Wangji remembered. Even if Jiang Cheng hadn’t told him, A-Yuan would have: he’d been full of excitement at how Jiang Cheng had foregone even whipping the man with Zidian and just punched him full in the face with a fist full of purple sparks. And then there’d been some kicking, according to A-Yuan, and a great deal of shouting about how people who abused children were people who abused children and that being a monster had nothing at all to do with anyone’s preferences in bed.

That poor man – he might have escaped with fewer broken bones if his timing hadn’t been so bad. That confrontation had taken place just after Lan Wangji had finally confessed aloud that his feelings about Wei Wuxian were, in fact, of a romantic nature. Amusingly enough, Jiang Cheng had not guessed it – he’d spluttered and waved his hands and said really?! at least six times – which in retrospect was in line with his general level of obliviousness. After he’d finally realized Lan Wangji was serious, though, he’d responded well enough: he hadn’t said a word about cutsleeves or anything like that, not a single word. Instead, he’d immediately leapt into criticizing Lan Wangji’s poor taste in men, claiming that actually living with Wei Wuxian would have driven him mad within weeks.

He hadn’t said that Lan Wangji could do better, though. They both knew that that was impossible.

“I remember.”

“Well, all sorts of rumors got started after that – no, don’t look at me like that, I told you that I don’t care one way or another! I don’t even want a wife right now; could I even handle having a wife the way I am now, more nightmares than sleep and no ability to control my temper?”

Lan Wangji shrugged and continued to strum the guqin in a repetitive motion, demonstrating to A-Yuan. Jiang Cheng would remember to get to the point eventually.

“Anyway. Rumors. People have started – asking.”

Lan Wangji’s hands paused. “You’ve been propositioned?”

“No! Well, I mean, yes, but dealing with propositions from men is the same as from women; you just glare until they go away –”

Sometimes Lan Wangji felt certain that Jiang Cheng would never find a wife.

After all, one would have to put up with him long enough to find the tolerable parts buried deep (deep) under all the prickliness and bad temper, and that was a task fit only for the inhumanly patient.

“– and anyway, no, I meant…someone asked me for help.”

Lan Wangji finally turned his head to look at him. “Help?”

Jiang Cheng sat down next to him. “Jin Guangshan’s bastard, the new one – Mo Xuanyu. He came to me during one of the conferences recently. He’s…he’s not fit for Lanling.”

Lan Wangji frowned.

“He’s getting bullied at Koi Tower, and pretty badly, too,” Jiang Cheng said. “He gave me some examples. Nothing truly intolerable in isolation, but when you put it all together…He’s very weak. Sensitive.”

“And he approached you?”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng said, long-suffering. “What’s the point of being infamously bad-tempered if people still approach you to ask for things…? He said that he trusts me because he thinks I’m, you know, like him.”

“A cutsleeve?”

“Exactly. It’s not looked on favorably in Lanling, to say the least.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wish we were all like Qinghe. I’m pretty sure if Nie Huaisang announced that he was marrying a sentient rosebush, Chifeng-zun’s primary concern would be how good its saber skills were.”

Lan Wangji felt a similar pang. His own sect elders, at Gusu, were not especially favorable to the idea either – Lan Xichen had long ago warned him that he would need to keep his inclinations to himself and that, if he ever found a partner, it would be best if the two of them could maintain low profile, pretending as much as possible to be merely brothers or close friends.

He’d thought that had all sounded quite reasonable, right up until he met Wei Wuxian, and little by little the idea of denying the way he felt had become utterly repulsive to him.

“Anyway, I feel like I should do something? But I can’t interfere with anything in Lanling, you know that.”

Lan Wangji knew. Matters between the Jiang sect and the Jin sect remained highly precarious. Jiang Cheng’s agreement not to marry or have children had maintained the alliance between them, but there was always the looming pressure that they could one day revoke the agreement and reclaim Jin Ling – perhaps even going so far as to bar them from seeing him again.

It was one of Jiang Cheng’s many nightmares.

“I can’t not do something,” Jiang Cheng was saying, waving his hands, and that was sign enough that whatever Mo Xuanyu had told him had made an impact. Normally if something touched on Jiang Cheng’s bottom line – Lanling and its threats – he stopped thinking about it immediately. “If this isn’t stopped, it’ll only get worse and worse, and the kid’s unstable as it is…I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed himself. Maybe not immediately, maybe not for years and years, but – one day.”

The Lan sect prioritized the preservation of human life over all else.

Lan Wangji considered his options.

“But then we get back to the fact that it’s Lanling. It’d be one thing if he were a nobody, but he’s Jin Guangshan’s son – I probably wouldn’t even be able to get near him, usually –”

“Brother could.”

Jiang Cheng twisted to look at him. “What?”

“Brother could,” Lan Wangji said. “He is sworn brothers with Lianfeng-zun; he has an entry token into Lanling and is familiar with much of Koi Tower.”

Jiang Cheng blinked. “And this helps me…how? I don’t think even Zewu-jun, however kind, would make trouble over a second-hand story that’s not even objectively that bad.”

“He would believe me.”

Jiang Cheng went quiet for a moment, and there was nothing but the innocent plinking of A-Yuan’s fingers on the guqin.

“This had better not be one of your attempts at self-sacrifice,” he finally said. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to – especially for Mo Xuanyu, of all people, you don’t even know him – ”

“I am ready,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng looked abruptly stricken. Lan Wangji didn’t understand why until he saw the way Jiang Cheng’s eyes flickered towards A-Yuan, then away, and then back again – as if he were simultaneously trying to memorize his features and also distance himself. “To speak with him only. I will not return to the Cloud Recesses at this time.”

Jiang Cheng gave a guilty start. “Really? You know you don’t have to –”

“I have decided,” Lan Wangji said simply.

Jiang Cheng rubbed his nose. “Well, good,” he said, not looking at Lan Wangji. “It’s better for A-Yuan to get a good grounding in the basics in one place before you move him around. You can always reconsider later, when he’s older.”

Lan Wangji hummed in agreement and looked back down at the guqin. “You may choose how to tell him.”

“Wait, what? Me?” Jiang Cheng asked, looking appropriately horrified by the idea. “Are you crazy? You remember that I have only the most passing familiarity with tact, right?”

“It will probably be better that way,” Lan Wangji said, and even mostly believed it. A letter would be too impersonal, a passed-along message almost certain to get garbled – he had never been eloquent in his terseness.

Jiang Cheng, however tactless, would at least be able to offer some context.

Besides, Jiang Cheng’s inevitable rant about the Lan sect’s mistreatment of Lan Wangji would likely take up several minutes, giving Lan Xichen time to recover from the shock and for his mixed emotions to settle into joy at finding Lan Wangji again. He had made his brother suffer, he knew, and he would have to explain himself and account for that – but enough time had passed, time spent here in the room where his beloved had lived, where they might have lived together if the world had been different, that Lan Wangji felt that he could do it without fear.

He was fairly sure Lan Xichen would respect his request not to share his location with the rest of the sect, and accept his refusal to return – and if he didn’t, well, possession was nine-tenths of the law. It would be very difficult for them to force him to return through anything other than emotional pressure.

A-Yuan broke a string and yelped, making Jin Ling start fussing, and Jiang Cheng immediately panicked, all other thoughts forgotten, and even as he unfolded himself to go over and make peace, Lan Wangji thought to himself that there was enough here to make resisting that pressure worthwhile.

Besides – if it came right down to it, Lan Wangji suspected he would look quite well in purple.

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #delight in misery #Anonymous

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silvokrent · 4 years ago

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RWBY Character Analysis: Pietro and Penny Polendina

Up until now I’ve been keeping quiet about my opinions on the newest volume, in no small part because my personal life has been one absurd setback after another, and I haven’t had the energy to engage in fandom meta. If you do want to know what my current opinion of RWBY is, go over to @itsclydebitches blog, search through her #rwby-recaps tag, and read every single one. At this point, her metas are basically an itemized list of all my grievances with the show. I highly recommend you check ’em out.

Or, if you don’t feel like reading several hours’ worth of recaps, then go find a sheet of paper, give yourself a papercut, and then squeeze a lemon into it. That should give you an accurate impression of my feelings.

In truth, I have a lot to say about the show, particularly how I think CRWBY has mishandled the plot, characters, tone, and intended message of their series. And while I enjoy dissecting RWBY with what amounts to mad scientist levels of glee, I think plenty of other folks have already discussed V7′s and V8′s various issues in greater depth and with far more eloquence. Any contribution I could theoretically make at this point would be somewhat redundant.

That being said, I’d like to talk about something that’s been bothering me for a while, which (to my knowledge) no one else in the fandom has brought up. (And feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.)

Today’s topic of concern is Pietro Polendina, and his relationship with Penny.

And because I’m absolutely certain this post is going to be controversial and summon anonymous armchair critics to fill my inbox with sweary claptrap, I may as well just come out and say it:

Pietro Polendina, as he’s currently portrayed in the show, is an inherently abusive parental figure.

Let me take a second to clarify that I don’t think it was RWBY’s intention to portray Pietro that way. Much like other aspects of the show, a lot of nuance is often lost when discussing the difference between intention versus implementation, or telling versus showing. It’s what happens when a writer tries to characterize a person one way, but in execution portrays them in an entirely different light. Compounding this problem is what feels like a series of rather myopic writing decisions that started as early as Volume 2, concerning Penny’s sense of agency, and how the canon would bear out the implications of an autonomous being grappling with her identity. It’s infuriating that the show has spent seven seasons staunchly refusing to ask any sort of ethical questions surrounding her existence, only to then—with minimal setup—give us Pietro’s “heartfelt” emotional breakdown when he has to choose between “saving” Penny or “sacrificing” her for the greater good.

Yeah, no thanks.

If we want to talk about why this moment read as hollow and insincere, we need to first make sure everyone’s on the same page.

Spoilers for V8.E5 - “Amity.” Let’s not waste any time.

In light of the newest episode and its—shall we say—questionable implications, I figured now was the best time to bring it up while the thoughts were still fresh in my mind. (Because nothing generates momentum quite like frothing-at-the-mouth rage.)

The first time we’re told anything about Pietro, it comes from an exchange between Penny and Ruby. From V2.E2 - “A Minor Hiccup.”

Penny: I've never been to another kingdom before. My father asked me not to venture out too far, but... You have to understand, my father loves me very much. He just worries a lot.

Ruby: Believe me, I know the feeling. But why not let us know you were okay?

Penny: I…was asked not to talk to you. Or Weiss. Or Blake. Or Yang. Anybody, really.

Ruby: Was your dad that upset?

Penny: No, it wasn’t my father.

The scene immediately diverts our attention to a public unveiling of the AK-200. A hologram of James Ironwood is presenting this newest model of Atlesian Knight to a crowd of enthusiastic spectators, along with the Atlesian Paladin, a piloted mech. During the demonstration, James informs his audience that Atlas’ military created them with the intent of removing people from the battlefield and mitigating casualties (presumably against Grimm).

Penny is quickly spotted by several soldiers, and flees. Ruby follows, and in the process the two are nearly hit by a truck. Penny’s display of strength draws a crowd and prompts her to retreat into an alley, where Ruby learns that Penny isn’t “a real girl.”

This scene continues in the next episode, “Painting the Town…”

Penny: Most girls are born, but I was made. I’m the world’s first synthetic person capable of generating an Aura. [Averts her gaze.] I’m not real…

After Ruby assures her that no, you don’t have to be organic in order to have personhood, Penny proceeds to hug her with slightly more force than necessary.

Ruby: [Muffled noise of pain.] I can see why your father would want to protect such a delicate flower!

Penny: [Releases Ruby.] Oh, he’s very sweet! My father’s the one that built me! I’m sure you would love him.

Ruby: Wow. He built you all by himself?

Penny: Well, almost! He had some help from Mr. Ironwood.

Ruby: The general? Wait, is that why those soldiers were after you?

Penny: They like to protect me, too!

Ruby: They don't think you can protect yourself?

Penny: They're not sure if I'm ready yet. One day, it will be my job to save the world, but I still have a lot left to learn. That's why my father let me come to the Vytal Festival. I want to see what it's like in the rest of the world, and test myself in the Tournament.

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of the approaching soldiers from earlier. Despite Ruby’s protests, Penny proceeds to yeet her into the nearby dumpster, all while reassuring her that it’s to keep Ruby out of trouble, not her. When the soldiers arrive, they ask her if she’s okay, then proceed to lightly scold her for causing a scene. Penny’s told that her father “isn’t going to be happy about this,” and is then politely asked (not ordered; asked) to let them escort her back.

Let’s take a second to break down these events.

When these two episodes first aired, the wording and visuals (“No, it wasn’t my father,” followed by the cutaway to James unveiling the automatons) implied that James was the one forbidding her from interacting with other people. It’s supposed to make you think that James is being restrictive and harsh, while Pietro is meant as a foil—the sweet, but cautious father figure. But here’s the thing: both of these depictions are inaccurate, and frankly, Penny’s the one at fault here. Penny blew her cover within minutes of interacting with Ruby—a scenario that Penny was responsible for because she was sneaking off without permission. Penny is a classified, top-secret military project, as made clear by the fact that she begs Ruby to not say anything to anyone. Penny is in full acknowledgement that her existence, if made public, could cause massive issues for her (something that she’s clearly experienced before, if her line, “You’re taking this extraordinarily well,” is anything to go by).

But here’s the thing—keeping Penny on a short leash wasn’t a unilateral decision made by James. That was Pietro’s choice as well. “My father asked me not to venture out too far,” “Your father isn’t going to be happy about this”—as much as this scene is desperately trying to put the onus on James for Penny’s truant behavior, Pietro canonically shares that blame. And Penny (to some extent) is in recognition of the fact that she did something wrong.

Back in Volumes 1 – 3, before the series butchered James’ characterization, these moments were meant as pretty clever examples of foreshadowing and subverting the controlling-military-general trope. This scene is meant to illustrate that yes, Penny is craving social interaction outside of military personnel as a consequence of being hidden, but that hiding her is also a necessity. It’s a complicated situation with no easy answer, but it’s also something of a necessary evil (as Penny’s close call with the truck and her disclosing that intel to Ruby are anything to go by).

Let’s skip ahead to Volume 7, shortly after Watts tampered with the drone footage and framed her for several deaths. In V7.E7 - “Worst Case Scenario,” a newscaster informs us that people in Atlas and Mantle want Penny to be deactivated, despite James’ insistence that the footage was doctored and Penny didn’t go on a killing spree. The public’s unfavorable opinion of Penny—a sentiment that Jacques of all people embodies when he brings it up in V7.E8—reinforces V2’s assessment of why keeping her secret was necessary. Not only is her existence controversial because Aura research is still taboo, but people are afraid that a mechanical person with military-grade hardware could be hacked and weaponized against them. (Something which Volume 8 actually validates when James has Watts take control of her in the most recent episode.)

But I digress.

We’re taken to Pietro’s lab, where Penny is hooked up to some sort of recharge/docking station. Ruby, Weiss, and Maria look on in concern while the machine is uploading the visual data from her systems. There’s one part of their conversation I want to focus on in particular:

Pietro: When the general first challenged us to find the next breakthrough in defense technology, most of my colleagues pursued more obvious choices. I was one of the few who believed in looking inward for inspiration.

Ruby: You wanted a protector with a soul.

Pietro: I did. And when General Ironwood saw her, he did too. Much to my surprise, the Penny Project was chosen over all the other proposals.

Allow me to break down their conversation so we can fully appreciate what he’s actually saying.

The Penny Project was picked as the candidate for the next breakthrough in defense technology.

Pietro wanted a protector with a SOUL.

In RWBY, Aura and souls are one of the defining characteristics of personhood. Personhood is central to Penny’s identity and internal conflict (particularly when we consider that she’s based on Pinocchio). That’s why Penny accepts Ruby’s reassurances that she’s a real person. That’s why she wants to have emotional connections with others.

What makes that revelation disturbing is when you realize that Pietro knowingly created a child soldier.

Look, there’s no getting around this. Pietro fully admits that he wanted to create a person—a human being—a fucking child—as a "defense technology” to throw at the Grimm (and by extension, Salem). Everything, from the language he uses, to the mere fact that he entered Penny in the Vytal Tournament as a proving ground where she could “test [her]self,” tells us that he either didn’t consider or didn’t care about the implications behind his proposal.

When you break it all down, this is what we end up with:

“Hey, I have an idea: Why don’t we make a person, cram as many weapons as we can fit into that person, and then inform her every day for the rest of her life that she was built for the sole purpose of fighting monsters, just so we don’t have to risk the lives of others. Let’s then take away anything remotely resembling autonomy, minimize her interactions with people, and basically indoctrinate her into thinking that this is something she wants for herself. Oh, and in case she starts to raise objections, remind her that I donated part of my soul to her. If we make her feel guilty about this generous sacrifice I made so she could have the privilege of existing, she won’t question our motives. Next, let’s give her a taste of freedom by having her fight in a gladiatorial blood sport so that we can prove our child soldier is an effective killer. And then, after she’s brutally murdered on international television, we can rebuild her and assign her to protecting an entire city that’s inherently prejudiced against her, all while I brood in my lab about how sad I am.”

Holy fuck. Watts might be a morally bankrupt asshole, but at least his proposal didn’t hinge on manufacturing state-of-the-art living weapons. They should have just gone with his idea.

(Which, hilariously enough, they did. Watts is the inventor of the Paladins—Paladins which, I’ll remind you, were invented so the army could remove people from the battlefield. You know, people. Kind of like what Penny is.)

Do you see why this entire scene might have pissed me off? Even if the show didn’t intend for any of this to be the case, when you think critically about the circumstances there’s no denying the tacit implications.

To reiterate, V8.E5 is the episode where Pietro says, and I quote:

“I don’t care about the big picture! I care about my daughter! I lost you before. Are you asking me to go through that again? No. I want the chance to watch you live your life.”

Oh, yeah? And what life is that? The one where she’s supposed to kill Grimm and literally nothing else? You do realize that she died specifically because you made her for the purpose of fighting, right?

No one, literally no one, was holding a gun to Pietro’s head and telling him that he had to build a living weapon. That was his idea. He chose to do that.

Remember when Cinder said, “I don’t serve anyone! And you wouldn’t either, if you weren’t built that way.” She…basically has a point. Penny has never been given the option to explore the world in a capacity where she wasn’t charged with defending it by her father. We know she doesn’t have many friends, courtesy of Ironwood dissuading her against it in V7. But I’m left with the troubling realization that the show (and the fandom), in their crusade to vilify James, are ignoring the fact that Pietro is also complicit in this behavior by virtue of being her creator. If we condemn the man that prevents Penny from having relationships, then what will we do to the man who forced her into that existence in the first place?

Being her “father” has given him a free pass to overlook the ethics of having a child who was created with a pre-planned purpose. How the hell did the show intend for Pietro to reconcile “I want you to live your life” with “I created you so you’d spend your life defending the world”? It viscerally reminds me of the sort of narcissistic parents who have kids because they want to pass on the family name, or continue their bloodline, or have live-in caregivers when they get older, only on a larger and much more horrific scale. And that’s fucked up.

Now, I’m not saying I’m against having a conflict like this in the show. In fact, I’d love to have a character who has to grapple with her own humanity while questioning the environment she grew up in. Penny is a character who is extremely fascinating because of all the potential she represents—a young woman who through a chance encounter befriends a group of strangers, and over time, is exposed to freedoms and friendships she was previously denied. Slowly, she begins to unlearn the mindset she was indoctrinated with, and starts to petition for agency and autonomy. Pietro is forced to confront the fact that what he did was traumatic and cruel, and that his love for her doesn’t erase the harm he unintentionally subjected her to, nor does it change the fact that he knowingly burdened a person with a responsibility she never consented to. There’s a wealth of character growth and narrative payoff buried here, but like most things in RWBY, it was either underdeveloped or not thought through all the way.

The wholesome father-daughter relationship the show wants Pietro and Penny to have is fundamentally contradicted by the nature of her existence, and the fact that no one (besides the villains) calls attention to it. I’d love for them to have that sort of dynamic, but the show had to do more to earn it. Instead, it’ll forever be another item on RWBY’s ever-growing list of disappointments—

Because Pietro’s remorse is more artificial than Penny could ever hope to be.

#rwby #rwby volume 8 #rwby spoilers #rwby thought dump #my posts #i speak #rwby meta #pietro polendina #penny polendina #james ironwood #arthur watts #ruby rose #rwby worldbuilding #rwde

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ink-system · 4 years ago

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Tickletober Day 9:Ganged Up On

ok so here is the extremely late tktober fic. Sorry it’s so late school and writer’s block happened but it’s here now and I hope you guys enjoy it a bit

TW: safe word mention, calling of safe word, intense tickles, Deceit, Remus

Word Count: 5813

Virgil was running. Where he didn’t know, all he knew was he needed to get out of there and he needed to get out of there fast. He was being chased by vicious, merciless monsters.

“Oh Viiirgey where are youuuuuu?~”

“We just wanna play with you!~”

“We aren’t gonna hurt you!”

“We would just like to show you how adorable you are.”

“It’s going to be so much fun once we catch you”

The teasing words echoed throughout the mind palace, drilling into Virgil’s head. He would never admit it, but the teases were slowing him down. The taunts were getting to him and the monsters were quickly gaining on him.

The purple side looked behind him, only for a second, and what he saw sent shivers down his spine…

All 5 sides right behind him, ready to attack. 5 sides who wanted to wreck him. 5 sides who were in ler moods. 5 sides who knew he was in a lee mood. 5 sides who were ABOUT TO TACKLE HIM HOLY SHIT HE’S GONNA DIE-

With Virgil looking behind him he got even more distracted and slowed down, which gave Roman just enough time to sprint the last few feet separating him from Virgil to tackle him. The fanciful side leaped forward with his arms reaching out for the side on the run.

“Aaaaaand GOTCHA!”

“NONONONO LEMME GO!”

Once Virgil was in the red side’s arms there was no escaping them. He was trapped. Done for. Stuck. He was gonna be tickled to tears by 5 lers and there was nothing he could do about it (not that he wanted to but that’s beside the point-).

“You put up a nice fight Virgey but it was pointless. You knew you were gonna get caught and that once you did you were making it worse for yourself by running away from your big, bad, personal tickle monsters. But you probably wanted that didn’t you, you big ass lee,” Roman teased to the squirming purple side in his arms.

As Roman was speaking he carried the struggling side to the coach and laid him down before straddling him as Janus used two of his six arms to pin the ex-dark side’s arms above his head.

“OH SHUT FUCKING FUCK YOU ASSHAT,” said purple side yelled, flustered out of his mind from the fanciful sides truths lies.

“Virgil, language!” the father figure exclaimed in both real and fake horror at the language his son used. “You should know better than to use those words, kiddo! I think you need to be punished for your potty mouth.” the dad of the group scolded. Patton’s teasing was fatherly and he almost always scolded the lee for something they did. It was… very flustering in its own way.

“Precisely what I was thinking, Patton. Such language is extremely uncalled for and calls for punishment” Logan, slightly cold yet teasingly stated. Logan’s teasing was very scientific and calculated. It was surprisingly flustering, him seeming almost indifferent to his actions and how they affected the lee.

“Yes, it does seem like he definitely knows how awful that language is. He doesn’t need to be taught a lesson,” the deceitful side said casually. Janus’ teasing was just stating the obvious but backwards, and it unfairly flustering, especially for something so simple. It killed everyone, especially poor Virgil.

“Such profanity is inexcusable! I say we show little Virgey here what happens to lees who say such horrible words!~” the sash wearing side exclaimed, far too dramatic than what was necessary. Roman’s teasing was just like him, overdramatic and far too extra. Yet there was something… flustering about it? He is creativity so it would follow that he would be able to tease quite well.

“Yeah having a ‘potty mouth’ is my thing! You’re stealing my thing Virgey! That’s even more punishable!” the duke yelled while reaching his hands out towards Virgil’s stomach, but he was stopped by Logan grabbing his collar. “Ahhhhh c’mon dork I just wanna wreck Tickle Me Emo’s little tummy for stealing my shit.” Remus’ teasing was… well. It was Remus teasing you. It was oftentimes very suggestive (even though he tried to not make suggestive with Virgil, Patton, and Roman), and its own way it was… kind of flustering.

“No, you need to be patient and wait for the rest of us” the tie-wearing side stated calmly.

“But you dorks are so slow and I wanna wreck him now. I’m sure he would prefer to get wrecked sooner than later. Isn’t that right, tickle toy”

Hearing them talk about him like he wasn’t there was driving Virgil crazy. Hearing the shit Remus was saying was even worse because it was true wrong and blatant lies and not true at all. Virgil couldn’t do a thing about it either. His face could’ve been mistaken for a fucking tomato at that point and the knowledge that the impulsive side was right made his blush spread from his face to his ears and neck. It sent tingles down his spine, and he hated how much teases got to him. Logan said it had something to do with him being the embodiment of anxiety and fight or flight and tickling being a way to train children to defend themselves and it is a panic defense. All he knew was it was making his already awful lee mood even worse.

“NONONO NOT RIGHT AT ALL” Virgil shrieked “I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN! FUCKING LET ME GO YOU ASSHOLES.”

Virgil knew what he was doing, he knew he was making it worse for himself and that he was going to get wrecked even more than he was before. But he may or may not have wanted that (okay he definitely wanted that but shhhhhh), and wasn’t regretting a thing.

“Such foul language! You must really want to be wrecked! I mean I knew you were in a lee mood but not one this big! I mean c’mon- 5 lers and you’re still having an attitude and cursing at us.” the good half of creativity remarked teasingly, not missing how red the lee’s face went at his words.

“Oh yes, it would seem that poor little ticklish Virgil here has amassed quite the lee mood and he is resorting to being bratty to get more tickles,” Logan stated slightly cold as if he were reading a lab report out loud rather than teasing the living daylights out of the lee that is Virgil ‘Anxiety’ Sanders.

“Yes, he’s been having quite the attitude with us thus far. Quite the bratty lee if I say so myself,~” the serpent side teased to the blushing, red, lee mess that was the embodiment of anxiety. “And we all know that bratty lees don’t want to be wrecked with tickles until they can’t even fight it anymore and they definitely don’t want punishment tickles so they misbehave to get them.”

And then Virgil heard the worst thing he has ever heard in his life.

“I say we make him ask for the tickles like a good little lee because bratty lees don’t get what they want”

No. No no no no no no. This couldn’t be happening right now. Not to him. Not in this big of a lee mood. Not with this many lers around to hear it and see how red his face is. Not him having to actually say the dreaded t-word. Not with five fucking lers to wreck him after he asks, holy shit he fucked up-

But there’s no way it could get worse. I mean only Janus said that the other sides probably won’t even agree with him! They’ll have mercy on him and not make him ask- right?

“Oh what a wonderful idea Dr. Trickyll and Mr. Lie!”

“What a good idea! Oh, you’re so smart Janny!”

“Yes, it would be beneficial to teaching Virgil a lesson to make him ask for what he wants.”

“Oh come on! Now I have to wait even longer to wreck him, cause we all know that Virgey here can’t say tickle!”

Aaaaaaand it got worse.

Not only did (mostly) all of them agree with the scaled side, but the only one who didn’t was Remus, and that was only because he wanted to wreck him sooner. Great.

So it was settled. He was going to die today. And it was all his Janus’ fault. I mean- how could he be so mean? Making him admit to being in a lee mood? The rudest thing he’s ever heard, how dare they make him admit to wanting to be wrecked with t- you know what.

And Virgil, the side who is definitely not a lee, eloquently said, “I- I- NONONONO- THAT ISN’T FAIR YOU ASSHOLES.”

“Now you are just proving our suspicions. You are in a leviathan of a lee mood and are being a bratty lee and defying us to get the desired amount of tickles. We are not going to give in to your brattiness and do as you wish until you ask nicely.”

Virgil wanted to crawl into a hole and stay there forever. They were seriously going to make him ask? Now? In this economy? But more importantly right now-

Was he going to ask?

Was he going to embarrass himself to all of the other sides? Was he going to let them know, once and for all, that he was in a big ass lee mood? Was he going to tell them that he wanted 50 fingers wiggling and scribbling all across his body, forcing them to make him laugh? Or was he going to die from lee suffering and not ask?

Yeah, he was gonna die from lee suffering.

There was no way that he would, or could, ask for something so childish and happy when he was anxiety. He was supposed to be the protector of the group, not the guy who gets giant lee moods and shows weakness and is soft, no matter how much he may have wanted to do so.

“Come on kiddo, you can do it! I believe in you!” the fatherly side encouraged.

Or maybe he could… maybe.

“But it’s so… ” the emo side trailed off, face somehow flushing even redder, “embarrassing,” he finished quietly.

“Oh c’mon Emo Nightmare, it’s fine to let loose every once in a while! There’s no shame in wanting tickles, in fact, it’s quite adorable!” the fanciful side dramatically exclaimed, aiming to make the anxious side feel a bit better, noticing the aura of shame surrounding him.

“Yes it is, in fact, beneficial to one’s mental health to laugh, and tickling, as I’m sure you know, is a way to produce laughter. Therefore, it would aid your, and most likely Thomas’, mental health to be tickled if you so desire. There is no shame in it Virgil.” Logan stated the oddly calming words in an almost motherly tone to the patchwork hoodie-clad side.

“Yes, it isn’t adorable how easily you’re flustered and how much you want to be wrecked by us. And even if it was adorable, which it definitely is not, we all know you love being tickled. So that makes us wrecking you until you cry is a form of self-care! And there are so many things wrong with practicing self-care, especially as the literal embodiment of anxiety.” the deceitful side said, trying his best to comfort his old friend in his own way.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah Virgey just c’mon and say it. I wanna wreck your little belly button now so if you could hurry it up with the asking thing that’d be better than a butthole!” Remus said while looking ready to pounce on Virgil as soon as he asked for it, if not sooner.

Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay he could do this. All he had to do was say three words! Three words aren’t that many!-

Please. Tickle. Me.

He couldn’t do this.

Those three words were the bane of existence. Those 3 words were going to be the death of him. Those 3 words made his face look like a fucking tomato even just thinking them, let alone saying them. Those three words… that he was going to say.

He took a breath, and ever so calmly said “PLEASE TICKLE ME!”

“Awww I knew you could do it kiddo!”

“There we go, you adorable emo!”

“I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell us what you wanted, and that you were polite about it.”

“See that wasn’t too hard now was it, my little spider”

“FINALLY!”

The emo side’s face somehow went even redder at his fellow side’s words of excitement at finally getting to wreck him.

Whether Virgil was going to die of embarrassment or lee first was anyone’s guess, but all he knew was he was going to die of something that day. His face was so red it could be mistaken for a tomato, and it spread to his neck and ears at this point. The emo side’s lee mood had grown so big that it was becoming more all-consuming than a lee mood already was normally. So maybe he might die of both at the same time if the other sides didn’t hurry the fuck up and wreck him.-

“So… pick a spot Emo Nightmare,” the good creativity said calmly after a few seconds of silent anticipation of what was to come (well the anticipation was mainly on Virgil’s end but shhh)

“WHAT?! NONONONO I JUST ASKED YOU FUCKING ASS!” the anxious side exclaimed in disbelief before slamming his head down on the ground in exasperation.

Did Roman just live to embarrass him? He made him ask and now he’s making him pick a spot. He’s basically making him tell where he wants to be wrecked the most and that’s completely illegal.

“Well now you’re being bratty again, should we make you ask again?” the logical side asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“…don’t make me say those fucking words again,” Virgil said, face somehow flushing even redder at the idea of being made to ask again, avoiding eye contact with the other sides. He was beyond mortified at this point, all the other sides had heard him ask to be wrecked, were going to make him pick a spot, and now they heard him admit to not wanting to say that fucking word again. He wanted to crawl inside a hole and stay there for the next 4,000 years.

“C’mon kiddo, just say any spot! You’re so ticklish that any spot will be great!” the paternal side said, accidentally teasing his son.

“Patton whyyyyyyyyy” Virgil whined while trying to hide his face in his shoulder as best he could, embarrassed at the moral side’s words.

“What?! It’s true kiddo!”

“No, it’s not”

Virgil wasn’t pouting. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not at all. He was big, bad anxiety who didn’t pout, no matter how much he may have thought it was unfair that they were being so mean to him.-

“Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” the emo side groaned in frustration and embarrassment, from the other sides still not wrecking him and the father figure words, before whispering, “…sides.”

As soon as the word left his mouth Remus pounced on him, literally. The impulsive side tackled his twin brother of the emo and replaced him by straddling his waist and squeezing Virgil’s sides.

The emo bit his lip to try and keep his laughter in, but it was no use; he was already too keyed up from anticipation for him to not laugh.

“Wahaihihit noho!”

“Oh, but we’re just getting started, Virgil,” the logical side said, smirking as he saw the emo’s eyes widen in panic when he saw the logical side calmly walking towards him.

“Just remember, you asked for this kiddo,” Patton said before walking towards his son with an innocent yet slightly sinister grin on his face. He was so excited to finally get to wreck his son to pieces! Virgil often came to him when he was in lee moods and it was so adorable! Now he got to share that adorableness with the rest of the sides!

Janus was already behind him and was spreading four out of his six arms to wreck the ex-dark side. He wiggled all of his available fingers where Virgil could see them. He relished in the way his face flushed an even darker red before he closed his eyes to avoid seeing the teasing, wiggling fingers.

The good half of creativity had since recovered from getting shoved off the lee and had climbed next to Virgil’s legs and had a hold of his ankle to keep him from kicking. As he did that, he stretched his leg out slightly in order to gain access to the backs of his knees.

“Wahihit Rohomahan nohoho!” the current lee cried out in panic at the knowledge that the fanciful side was going to tickle his knees.

“Why did I choose today to wear shorts?” Virgil thought to himself in regret before he remembered, “Oh yeah, I wanted to get wrecked. Well… fuck my life I guess”

Roman started scribbling his fingers on the backs of the emo’s side’s knees, listening to his,ironically, bright and cheerful laugh as he did so.

The tie wearing side finally walked all the way over to Virgil and kneeled next to him on the coach. He began scanning the darker side for a spot to tickle that wasn’t already being wrecked by the other sides. His eyes landed on his ribs, which were known to be a pretty bad spot on their own for the purple side, so tickling them combined with the other spots covered by the other sides were likely to make him go even further into hysterics.

“Virgil, how does it feel to know that you’re going to be tickled without mercy until you cry by 5 lers? Is it terrifying? Exciting? Exhilarating?” he said while summoning a notebook to write his answers down, eager to have more research.

The emo’s side flushed the reddest it’s ever been at Logan’s words and at seeing the notebook. He knew whatever he did was going to be observed and recorded for the logical side to look back on when he was collecting more data on the side’s reactions to certain aspects in tickling.

“Lohohogahan, nohoho!” he laughed harder, becoming more giddy by the second, feeling the logical side’s eyes drifting up and down his body. Virgil knew the tie wearing side was going to try and collect data from him, but he didn’t expect him to ask questions.

“Logan, yes!,” the dark blue side exclaimed, uncharacteristically excited and child-like at the opportunity to collect more data.

“You know Virgil, you still haven’t responded to my question, would you mind doing so now?”, the left brain side questioned. He finally kneeled down next to Virgil and began to squeeze his ribs while observing the emo’s reactions to him doing so.

“Yehehes Ihihi wohouhuhuld mihihind! Shuhut uhuhup!”

“Oh kiddo, well now that’s just flat out rude! You should know better than to be such a meanie!”, the paternal side scolded. “I think you need to be taught another lesson, it’s the only way you’re gonna learn after all!”

“Yes, it would be a good incentive to answer my question, seeing as how he doesn’t seem to want to be cooperative. It would also be beneficial to my research to see how he would react to your ‘punishment’.”

“Wahahaihit nohoHOHOHO!” Virgil tried to say before he was thrown into even deeper hysterics from the father figure had started scribbling his fingers on his stomach.

All of the other sides all mentally, and some verbally, awwed at the normally dark and pessimistic side’s bright and happy laughter.

With Janus scribbling Virgil’s armpits with 5 arms, Roman tracing his knees, Patton scratching at his tummy, Logan squeezing his ribs, and Remus digging into his sides, Virgil was, well… losing his fucking mind.

“GUHUHUYS! HAHAHAHA!”

“Uh, guys- I think we should give him a break. His face is as red as my sash and he’s kind of wheezing.-” the fanciful said, sounding very concerned at his friend’s current state.

“Oh kiddo, are you okay?”, Patton questioned as he pulled his hands back from their place on his stomach. He knew the darker side could take a lot but he didn’t know if he could take that many tickles, especially with so many lers.

All the other sides slowly began to move their hands away when the rest of them noticed that the fanciful was right. They each looked at him as they all backed away, concern visible in their eyes.

“Virgil, would you like a glass of water?”, the logical side asked, voice surprisingly soft and almost motherly.

The emo side nodded his head, still too lost in residue giggles to respond verbally. Virgil’s brain was practically melted from all the ghost sensations still tingling all over his body.

“We didn’t go too far did we, my little shadowling?” the deceitful side asked, being genuine for once. Him and the emo side may not have been that close anymore, but Janus still deeply cared for him and wanted to make sure he was okay.

“Yehehes, ohoho gohohod,” the purple side giggles out, still a bit loopy on endorphins from laughing so much.

If the emo side was being completely honest, his lee mood still wasn’t gone. He still wanted more tickles. He wanted to be wrecked more than he already had been, and more than he ever had been before.

As all the sides stepped back a bit to give him some room to breathe the emo side managed to say through his giggles, “Noho dohont gohoho,wahant mohohore tihicklehes!”

The other 5 sides felt their jaws drop at his words. He wanted… more tickles? Man he really was in a giant lee mood. After they all got over the shock of his words, the five sides grinned wider than the cheshire cat.

“More? You want more tickly tickly tickles, Virgey?”, the green side said, as he slowly walked towards the lee again with wiggling fingers.

“Yehehes!”, the emo side exclaimed, still clearly loopy from the endorphins.

The five lers all awwed at endorphin high Virgil and him being so open about wanting more tickles. Just when the rest of them thought that the emo side couldn’t be even cuter, he did this. Even Logan had to admit that the sight was adorable.

“Okay kiddo, how about this? We’ll give you alllllll the tickles you could ever want after you calm down a bit more. How does that sound?!”

“Gohohod!”, the emo side giggled out, as excited as they’ve ever seen him before. He started taking deeper breaths to try and calm down quicker so he could get his second round of tickles even sooner.

As soon as he came down from his endorphins rush the purple side’s face flushed red as he remembered what he said stuttering out embarrassed excuses. “I didn’t mean that!-” and “I was lying!-” were the most common excuses he made.

None of the other sides believed him.

As they shouldn’t have, as Virgil still had a wide, wobbly smile on his face from the anticipation of knowing he was going to be wrecked again.

“You see, Virgil, you still haven’t answered my previous question. Why don’t you answer it now?”the dark blue side asked teasingly. Logan smirked as he saw the way that the emo side’s face flushed an even darker red, traveling all the way to his neck and ears. He knew the emo couldn’t handle answering his questions for his research, and he used this fact quite frequently. Teasing always made it worse for the purple side, it was almost too much for him to handle. It was almost mean to tease the embodiment of anxiety, especially when he was this worked up and flustered in the first place.

“Uh, how about I don’t do that?-”, the anxious said quickly, not wanting to have to tell Logan how excited he was to have five lers to wreck and tease him until he was a red, flustered, hysterical mess.

“So Panic! at the Everywhere, you say you want more tickles, then you deny wanting said tickles. What’s wrong, a little flustered? Are we teasing you too much? Can big, bad anxiety not handle a few simple teases or questions from his own personal tickle monsters? Oh, what a pity, and were going to have so much fun with you too! We were going to scribble our fingers on your tummy, lightly scratch our fingers on your toes, squeeze your thighs, poke your sides, skitter our fingers on the backs of your knees! Now we won’t get to do any of that, and that’s such a pity for all of us!”, the fanciful side teased, glancing at Virgil every so often to see how red his face would go at his words.

Roman certainly wasn’t disappointed with the emo side’s reaction. He started kicking again, face flushing red and it spreading to his neck and ears, giggles spilled out of his mouth against his will from anticipation, shaking his head, and tugging on his arms while half heartedly begging to be let go.

“Nohoho, Prihihincehey stahap beheihing mehean!”, the patchwork clad hoodie side pleaded, giggling from anticipation and Roman’s mean teasing. It just wasn’t fair- I mean c’mon, Virgil was anxiety, you’re really going to make him wait? How mean could someone possibly be?

“Kiddo, do you want more tickles?”, the paternal side asked tenderly, not intending to tease his son, just merely wanting to make sure he actually wanted them before five lers were wrecking him again.

The emo side shyly nodded his head before turning to hide his very red face in his shoulder. He couldn’t handle the others seeing him so flustered, despite the others having seen him just as flustered before. The only difference was they were all together this time. They all were seeing him, face the most red it had probably ever been, at the same time. It was almost too much embarrassment for Virgil to handle.

“Awwww! Gerard Gay really is adorable, isn’t he?!“, the fanciful side exclaimed excitedly before looking at the other four lers, bouncing on his heels a little from the adorable sight. He was just so excited cause he got to wreck the normally stoic and edgy emo more because said emo asked him too!

“You dorks need to shut the fuck up and help me wreck Tickle-Me-Emo,” the green side said before walking over to Virgil.

As Remus walked over to him, Virgil shook his head wildly, eyes wide open, legs kicking, and tugging on his arms. The purple side knew that the intrusive side was one the most merciless lers in the mind and he didn’t stop unless you were crying from laughter or begging for mercy. And he was walking right towards him again while Virgil was pinned down and couldn’t fight back like he normally could.

“I for one am curious as to why the little spiderling wants more tickles. Would you mind telling us, my little shadowling?”, the deceitful side questioned affectionately. He always loved to make Virgil say his fantasies as he knew how much it flustered him.

“Yehes Ihi wohouhuld mihihind”

“Too bad, you’re telling us Robert Downey Jr.”

Virgil whined, knowing he wasn’t getting out of this as easily, and that the other sides wouldn’t be satisfied with his answer unless he gave specific details. All he wanted was to be wrecked again, was that too much to ask?

Apparently it was.

The emo side groaned, far too gone in his lee mood to not get more tickles. He took a deep breath, trying to gather up the courage and willpower to speak again. He was gonna die from embarrassment, he just knew it.

Virgil took a breath and replied, “Uhuhum, Ihi lihike beheihing toho weheak toho fihighihit bahack ahand beheihing fohorcehed toho lahauhugh.” His face flushed to the same shade as Roman’s sash as he said this, knowing that they were never going to let him live this down. He glanced up to see the logical side writing his words down. The emo side could feel all of their eyes on him, looking him up and down, their eyes drilling into his worst spots, just begging to be able to wreck him for a second time and make his lee fantasy come true.

Remus shockingly wasn’t the first side to move towards the blushy side, it was Logan. The logical side was normally the last one to move towards the lee he was wrecking, often too busy observing the lee to actually wreck them until they were begging for him to do anything.

Logan was excited to wreck Virgil again, and he was showing it in his own way by rushing over to him. The logical side kneeled down next to the emo side’s stomach and rolled his shirt up to his ribs. He was looking at the spot, appearing almost rabid with need. The tie-clad side’s ler mood had gotten even stronger at the lee’s words, and Logan needed to wreck him now. The more he waited the worse the more his ler mood grew.

Janus pinned the emo side’s arms above his head once again with two of his arms, the other four resting above his ribs and armpits. Patton kneeled next to his ‘son’s’ knees as he hovered his hands over the spot. Roman straddled the purple side’s thighs again, pinning his legs down with his weight as he looked down at the current lee’s stomach. Remus was moving towards Virgil’s feet, sitting on his calves so he couldn’t pull his feet back, nor kick his legs at all, he pulled his toes back with one hand and rested the other on his foot.

The anticipation was going to kill the anxious side. As each of the sides walked to get in their positions Virgil’s face steadily got redder and his smile became more difficult to fight off. He was so close to getting what wanted again, yet the other sides were stopping as soon as they got into their positions.

“Guhuys pleheahase! Juhust doho ihit ahalreheady!”, the emo side begged, giggling from anticipation.

“I mean… he did say please,” the fatherly side stated. As much as Patton loved teasing his son, he wanted to actually wreck him now. He wanted to give his son what he wanted, so he was going to.

“Padre’s right. He’s been so polite recently and he answered Calculator Watch’s question, we should reward him for being such a good lee.”

The other 3 sides nodded in agreement as they exchanged glances with each other, shit eating grins on all their faces. As they looked at each other they nodded, communicating without speaking.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“ONE!”

As soon as they yelled out the last number they all pounced on the emo side. Janus scratching at his ribs and armpits, switching between lighter and rougher tickles. Roman fluttering his fingers on his stomach, keeping all his touches feather light. Remus scritching at his toes, never giving the emo side a break from the tickly sensations and keeping him on his toes, literally. Patton alternated between squeezing each of his knees, not letting his son get used to the sensations. Logan alternated between squeezing his sides and helping the fanciful wreck the anxious side’s stomach.

Virgil arched his back as he screamed in laughter. He had never experienced such intense ticklish sensations, especially not all at once. He couldn’t even process all the sensations coursing through his body and he swore he was going to explode from them.

“N-NAHAHA! GUHUHAHAHA!”, the emo side screeched desperately, not even able to form words anymore. All he could do is throw his head back in laughter and take it. His body wouldn’t let him squirm, far too overwhelmed by all the sensations being forced upon it.

He loved it.

The emo side hadn’t felt that care free in a long time. It was… nice to be able to let go and laugh and not have to worry about anything else then the tickly sensations attacking your body and having laughter forced out. It was something that the normally grumpy and edgy side truly needed.

“IHI- IHI CAHAHA! HAHAHA!”

The five lers looked at each other, slightly concerned. They knew the patchwork hoodie-clad side had asked for this, but wasn’t he reaching his limit? This was a lot for anyone, especially for the embodiment of anxiety who wasn’t used to physical touch.

“Kiddo, are you okay? Do you need a break?”

“IHIM F-FIHAHAHA!”, his words once again got lost in the midst of his hysterical laughter. Even though he couldn’t finish his sentence he was telling the truth, he was fine. Actually he was better than fine. He was amazing. This was exactly what he wanted, to be tickled to his limits, to not be able to fight back. Some people might say it was extreme but his lee mood was too bad to really care about that. Not that he could actually think, his mind was too busy trying to process what he was feeling to think many coherent thoughts.

At his words the other sides continued to wreck him for a few more minutes until the emo side cried out “S-SAHAND- SAHANDEHER-.”

They all pulled back immediately as they heard the safeword. All five lers looked at the emo side to see if he needed anything at that moment before he could speak coherently again. The fanciful side got off of his hips and the deceitful side let go of his arms and slowly worked the lee’s arms down from their position.

As soon as Virgil was free to move again he curled into a ball to protect his spots, still feeling ghost sensations all over his body. He was still giggling from ghost sensations on his stomach, knees, feet, armpits, and ribs.

“Ohoho gohod, thahat wahas amahazihinig! Thahank yohouhu guhuys!”

The other sides awwed at him again. He was just too cute for the others to handle sometimes. The normally stoic and edgy side was giggling and thanking them for tickles, it was just adorable and the paternal side wished he could take a picture of the sight of a flustered, giggling Virgil.

“Would you like anything? Water? Snacks?”, the logical side questioned, immediately slipping back into his almost motherly role with Virgil.

The wrecked side shook his head and just giggled as he said “Cuhuhddlehes?!”

There he was again, being adorable. The other sides awwwed again as they walked back over to the emo side to give him what they wanted cause…

How could they say no to that?

#my shitty writing #lee!virgil #ler!patton #ler!logan #ler!janus #ler!remus #ler!roman #sanders sides fic #sanders sides tickling

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officialleotolstoy · 4 years ago

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Oh Anatole Brainrot* We’re Really In It Now, aka Anatole playlist annotations!

*I only have brainrot about him in terms of his relationships with Hélène and Dolokhov idc about him on his own 🤢

This playlist is infuriating because it has so many good songs on it and he does NOT deserve to have a playlist that slaps so hard :/

My Type - Saint Motel

“You’re just my type; you’ve got a pulse and you are breathing”

The lyrics are literally just I Will Have Sex With Anything That Breathes which is Anatole’s only personality trait. It just is.

Fool For Love - Lord Huron

“I’m asking her to be my bride, I know there’s another man but he ain’t gonna delay my plans”

This song is about eloping with a girl who already has a boyfriend, it is THE Comet section Anatole song. Which angers me because it’s such a good song, it doesn’t deserve to be associated with him in my head.

The Cult of Dionysus - The Orion Experience

“Wine and women and wonderful vices”

HEDONISM BABEY!!! Also the phrase “wine and women” with “he spends his money on women and wine” in Comet...makes ya think.

Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic

“Look so good I might die, all I know is everybody loves me”

You know that quote that’s like “[Anatole] cultivated an air of superiority blah blah blah whatever” (paraphrased)? This is that in song form.

Bedroom Hymns - Florence + The Machine

“The wine and the women and the bedroom hymns”

Thottery AND the phrase “wine and women”? Anatolecore.

Talk - Hozier

“I’ll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I’m imagining you”

I think if he needs to, Anatole can sugarcoat carnal desire with pretty words. It kind of comes down to “I’m pretending to be eloquently and romantically interested in you but I really just want to have s*x with you”. He might not have that much self-control, but the bottom line is that this song is horny and so is he.

Someone New - Hozier

“I wake at the first cringe of morning and my heart’s already sinned”

All my notes say is “commitment issues thot anthem” which is fair. I think it’s physically impossible for him not to fall in love with someone new every week, which is the entire point of this song. Also “you knew who I was with every step that I ran to you” tracks, Anatole doesn’t really try to hide it.

Paradise City - Guns N’ Roses

“Take me down to the paradise city where the grass is green and the girls are pretty”

I won’t lie, I’m not sure if this is what the song is actually about but that bit at least has hedonism energy. Also this came up on genius lyrics and it feels like something Anatole would do:

Hallelujah - Panic! At The Disco

“I got caught under the covers with secondhand lovers”

Ok whore. But also the vibes of knowing you’re a sinner and reveling in it feels like Anatole. It’s the complete lack of shame for me.

Why Should I Worry - Billy Joel

“Why should I worry? Why should I care?”

Has he ever actually cared about anything other than his own personal wellbeing? Jury’s still out. This song implies he has street smarts which may not be true but not every lyric is gonna work 😔✌🏻

Only The Good Die Young - Billy Joel

“I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun”

The entire song is just seducing a devoutly Catholic girl, and it doesnt exactly work but I always assign this in my head to that time he tried to marry Marya B. But just in general, the reckless seduction vibes work.

Mambo No. 5 - Lou Bega

“To me flirting is just like a sport”

Unironically this is such an Anatole song. Listing off all his different lovers and their attributes is absolutely something he’s done. This is just a carefree thot song which is his vibe.

Ex’s and Oh’s - Elle King

“Ex’s and oh’s they haunt me like ghosts”

This is also on the Hélène playlist but this time the ex messing things up is his wife (not that any of that was her fault). I also think the general vibes of “I’m gonna make you want me so much and then leave you” are Anatoleish

Rasputin - Boney M.

“Russia’s greatest love machine”

LOOK ME IN THE EYES AND TELL ME THIS DOESN’T WORK. It’s about the seduction of upper-class Russian women come ON

I’m Born To Run - American Authors

“I’m gonna live my life like I’m gonna die young”

This is almost a more wholesome version of his careless hedonism, more skewed toward seeing the world rather than just having drunken fun but the energy is still there

Don’t Stop Me Now - Queen

“Tonight I’m gonna have myself a real good time”

It’s the “having fun is the only thing that matters” mindset. He doesn’t deserve this song 😔

Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen

I don’t have a lyric for this one, it’s just like. Yes I am a professional flirter! He is not this into commitment but i imagine he tells a new person this every week.

Oops!...I Did It Again - Britney Spears

“But to lose all my senses, that is just so typically me”

The lack of commitment and not treating relationships seriously is very Anatole, and so is the refusal to take responsibility for the heartbreak you directly caused.

How Bad Can I Be? - The Lorax

“How bad can I be? I’m just doing what comes naturally”

I KNOW I KNOW. HEAR ME OUT. This is pretty much Tolstoy’s “defense” of him verbatim. It’s the idea that he’s just so naturally like this it has never occurred to him to be any other way or to think about other people’s wellbeing. Anatole is the Onceler and Natasha is a straight girl on tumblr circa 2012.

Runaway Baby - Bruno Mars

“When I play, I never stay”

He would never be this self-aware, but otherwise it fits. The whole thing is about an inability to commit and a propensity for causing heartbreak. Also, I’ve had a grudge against this song for years and the blind rage it fills me with is reminiscent of the blind rage Anatole fills me with.

California Girls - The Beach Boys

“I’ve been all around this great big world and I’ve seen all kinds of girls”

This song is like, “What if we objectified every woman ever but made it a bop?” which is massive Anatole energy I think.

Girls, Girls, Girls - Motley Crüe

“I just need a new toy”

Literally the exact same justification as California Girls

It’s Raining Men - The Weather Girls

If I’m gonna add songs about objectifying women, I’m gonna add songs about objectifying men too. Equal opportunity whorery.

Parental Guidance - Judas Priest

“You say I waste my life away but I live it to the full”

This is just him to Vassily. Refusing to be controlled by your parents’ expectations and just going off to have fun is Vassily’s whole gripe with him and also the point of this song.

How To Be A Heartbreaker - MARINA

“You gotta have fun, but baby when you’re done you gotta be the first to run”

The bits about not getting close to anyone because you’re afraid of getting hurt don’t really apply but the “here’s how to make people like you and also we are for sure not staying together this is just for fun” definitely fit.

The STD Song - Top Memes

“Sinning with your naked bod is evil and atrocious”

I uh. I forgot this was on here but I was RIGHT when I added it. This is the lecture Vassily gives him after his Polish wife debacle-

Do It All The Time - I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

“I’m only doing anything I want to do because I do it all the time”

He literally just does whatever he wants without thinking about the consequences. It’s just got huge entitled kid thot energy which is Anatole’s whole character. And the line “I’m taking your girl and I’m making her mine” is deeply Anatoleish.

Until The Night Turns - Lord Huron

“I got a helluva view for the end of the world, I've got a bottle of booze and a beautiful girl”

This doesn’t fit into any particular situation but I do think if the world was ending and Anatole was drunk with a pretty lady he would have this exact reaction. Also the repetition of the word sunrise (which is what the name Anatole means) is just a fun little extra bit.

Girls - The 1975

“What’s the fun in doing what you’re told?”

Rebellious kid energy! Also “she can’t be what you need if she’s 17” is everyone with morals @ him about Natasha (I know she was 19 at the time shh it’s about the energy).

Pretty Fly (For A White Guy) - The Offspring

“In his own mind he’s the dopest trip”

This man is The Worst but he really thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips huh! Literally everyone can tell he’s not the brightest bulb in the bunch EXCEPT HIM. Smh.

#anatole kuragin #war and peace #my post #w&p playlists #unfair of this playlist to slap so hard when it’s for the worst character #im gonna post the ship ones a bit later bc im a narcissist and i want more attention xo

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latetheff · 4 years ago

Text

Late - Chapter 1

Turn Back Time

Chris Evans x Becky London Raiting: Mature Warnings: This is a grown up kind of story, people will make mistakes, do stupid shit and possibly treat each other in not the best way - if this is a problem for you, I advise you not to read. Other than that, I'll try to tag everything, if you see something that might be trigging and it's not tagged, please, let me know.

A/N: It would be great to read you opinion about this fic!

Is the past a happy place even when it is full of problems? Cause she’s not sure if it’s okay to want back so much a relationship that didn't even work. The short time they’ve been together is a confusing memory - everything was just too much. They had fun, they were absolutely delighted to be in each other's company and they clicked just so amazingly - the kiss, the hugs, the sex - it was just perfect. Everything but her jealousy. And her lack of communication skills. And the fact that she would lie and try to hurt him for hurting her - even if he wasn’t even aware of it. Yeah, she sucks pretty bad.

Becky learned very soon that things wouldn’t function between them. He’s prince charming in person and the only royal thing about her is the spoiled way she was raised. She didn’t consider herself an arrogant person, but she’s aware of all the things she should be able to do to be considered a competent adult and how far away from it she is. At first, she thought she would try and catch up, but the fact that he’s so independent and self-sufficient got her intimidated and she only knows how to fix her problems in a destructive defensive way. To be with him was an exercise in facing her own futility. She was certain the only reason for him to want her is her beauty, fame, intensity, cause she assumes she has nothing else to offer.

She’s talented - that’s something she believes in and the contracts and buzzing around her confirms it - so she puts all her energy into it. Since the break, all she did was work. Now when she looks back at the phone and sees his text, she feels tired like she’s been running and holding her breath for years, although it took only two corridors and an elevator ride. Entering the hotel room, she hurries to the bed, taking out her sandals in the way, and sits, hugging a pillow.

She knows she should have worked on all the things wrong that got her out of that relationship 7 years ago, but she didn’t! She ignored everything and now it won’t work again! Not that she expected to ever have another chance with him, but she should have done it for herself! Instead, she jumped into work and blocked any kind of relationship reflection. This is as close as being able to turn back time but can she do things differently when she hasn't grown or learned anything? Is the weight on her shoulder enough to make her better and actually deserve another chance? Well, here goes nothing.

Hi. - great, very eloquent, she thinks

Can I call you? - Call her? Becky can’t deal with hearing his voice when the words alone are driving her nuts.

No. - Damn, what can she say to avoid this call and keep texting? He didn’t text anything back after her negative, probably imagining she didn’t want to have any contact with him. The truth, Becky, go with the truth.

I want to talk to you. Really. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to hear your voice.

Fuck, I thought you wouldn’t want to talk at all. How are you?

I’m in New York, I have an interview tomorrow and will be filming a campaign in two days. How are you?

Filming in Europe...looking at pictures of you like a lost puppy.

Why?

I’m not sure, I miss you.

I miss you too. I’m so sorry, Chris.

I’m sorry, darling. I wish I could turn back time and make it alright.

It wasn't your fault. At all.

I know it’s too late but I really want to talk to you and see if maybe the good things are still there, you know?

I would really like that too.

Let me call you.

Ok.

When he does, it’s a video call - not what she expected, but she accepts it anyway.

“Fuck, you look gorgeous” she hears him saying almost as if it’s a secret.

“You look tired” she whispers back, concerned about the weariness she can see in his eyes.

Chris gives her the most beautiful sarcastic smile before answering ”Thanks. It’s almost 4 am here, I couldn’t sleep.” He squinted his eyes trying to focus on a red stain on her pillow “Are you bleeding?"

“Oh, shit...yes.” Becky stands from the bed and hurries to the bathroom, taking the phone with her and placing it in front of the mirror as she gets her finger under the water, unaware of the way her dress is pulled to give him a view of her cleavage. “I cut my finger in a glass downstairs when you called and forgot to tend to it” the new information changes his attention away from the delicious curve of her breasts and all the flashbacks tempting him.

“What happened? Are you sure there’s no glass in it?” He asks worriedly, she can see his caring nature once again and it brings back a lot of good memories of the great guy he is.

“I was…” not sure if she should just say the truth and how she was about to fuck some essentially stranger; she looks down and closes the sink, toweling her hands “I want you back, Chris, but I don’t know if I deserve you.”

“Becky..” he tries to cut her but she keeps talking.

“No, that’s not true, I know I don’t. I wasn’t good to you back then and I didn’t work on my problems yet...You’re amazing, really, and I really do want you back, but I have to figure my mess out.”

“Darling, you talk as if you’re a monster. It didn’t work before but it doesn’t mean it was anyone’s fault...and anyway, we can talk and get everything straight. I really want to try again and if you want that too, the past doesn't matter much.”

She’s not sure if she agrees with his reasoning, but she wants to believe in it, in them. Smiling back at him, she gets the phone back and walks to the bed. “It’s been so long...we’ll have to get to know each other all over again.”

“I don’t mind that at all,” Chris tells her. “In fact, I look forward to it. Where are you living, darling?”

“I’m still with my parents...I mean, I’m never there so, it didn’t make sense to leave. You’re probably still in Mass, right?”

“Yep. New house, but yeah. I’ll be there in a month I guess...if it all goes well here. Are you able to visit?”

“I’ll make sure I am. You know this is one of the things I need to adjust in my life...I’m 32, I need to have my own house. I feel like I’m not even an adult, Chris...I don’t even drive! There you are trying to change the world and I can’t drive!”

He feels her getting anxious and the desire to hug her is so overwhelming that his eyes are filled with tears. “Babe, hey, it doesn’t matter. You’re 8 years younger than me. You have time to figure everything out and I’ll help if you let me. Don’t pressure yourself.”

“I miss you. One month you said?” she flirtatiously says.

“Yep,” he smiles, happy to know his feelings are being reciprocated. He tries hard but the yaws are not backing away anymore. She sees it and smiles softly at him, wishing she could be there to cuddle with him.

“Go to sleep, handsome. Call me tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I will. Hopefully this is not a dream.”

“Hopefully. I’ll wait for your call anyway.”

“Hey, I never asked where you were...you look really gorgeous.”

The call date was ending so well and this question will screw up everything. She wants him to go to sleep with a light heart and hope...not overthinking his decision of getting back together. So, she does one of the things that proves she’s not good enough for him. She lies.

“Photoshoot. I really need to take a bath and rest too. Good dreams, big guy.”

“Good night, babe.”

When they hung up, she threw herself back at the pillows - divided between opposite emotions - happiness for the new chance but disappointed with herself for ending the call with a lie. Old Becky says hi.

#chris evans x original female character #chris evans x ofc #chris evans rpf #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fic #chris evans smut #fanfic #late #fic

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cuttoothed · 5 years ago

Note

JonMartin: In A Bar, A Bet 👀

OKAY I KNOW A DARE AND A BET ARE NOT THE SAME THING BUT I WOULD LIKE IT ON THE RECORD THAT MY HEART WAS IN THE RIGHT PLACE. 💖

Sasha’s birthday comes around about a month after Martin moves into the Archives. Martin remembers it, of course, because he makes it his business to remember when people’s birthdays are, regardless of whether he’s being menaced by supernatural worm creatures. He goes out and gets her a carrot cake, because it’s her favorite, and walks a card around all the different departments to collect greetings from everyone that Sasha’s friends with. He brings it to Jon last of all, who scribbles his name hastily in the small amount of white space left, frowning.

“I’m sure you have better things to be doing with your time, Martin,” he says. “Don’t you still have the research on the Regan case to do?”

Martin doesn’t rise to the bait, because he’s well ahead on the Regan case, and also he almost died in the line of duty, thank you. Martin’s not letting that one go for at least as long as he’s stuck living in this musty basement. He just snaps the card shut and leaves Jon to his tapes.

Sasha is delighted with the card and the cake, and that evening they go for a drink at the Thistle, which is just around the corner from the Institute and does a curry night on Wednesdays. Tim orders the hottest vindaloo with extra spice, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at the barman. The rest of them order normally and Jon magnanimously gets the first round of drinks in. A few of the Research and Artifact Storage lot pop in for a drink and some happy returns, but after a while it’s just the four of them. Martin’s well into his third flirtini, so he’s too slow to react when Tim declares:

“We should play Truth Or Dare!”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Jon says at the exact same time that Sasha says: “Oh, fun!” and really, what choice do they have at that point?

In her defense, Martin thinks afterwards, she did have several rounds of tequila bought for her by well-meaning colleagues who each thought they were the first one to have the idea of shots for the birthday girl. Sasha can’t really be blamed.

It’s all simple at first. Martin truthfully answers Sasha’s question about the first person he snogged, and then Tim answers his question about the weirdest place he’s ever woken up, and then...and then Tim looks at Jon and says:

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Jon says firmly. Tim grins.

“If you had to pick one person from the Institute to shag, who would it be?”

Jon’s face goes crimson and he looks away.

“That’s hardly - hardly appropriate, Tim. I am still your manager.”

“I’m flattered, boss, but I know it’s not me. I’d be able to tell if we had...sexual chemistry.” Tim waggles his eyebrows again and Jon goes even redder.

“That’s not what I - ” he mutters, and Martin’s about to tell Tim to lay off him when Jon huffs out a breath and says:

“Fine. Dare.”

“Oh…” Tim muses, tapping a finger against his chin. His eyes slide over to meet Martin’s, glinting with mischief, and before Martin can silently plead no, Tim, he continues:

“I dare you to snog Martin.”

Martin’s heart stops. Fuck you, Stoker, he thinks viciously, and shoots Tim a glare that Tim answers with a smug grin. Martin curses himself for ever letting Tim drag out the truth of his inconvenient interest - purely aesthetic interest, he hastens to add - in their arsehole of a boss. It’s humiliating, because Jon is stuffy and superior and really rather unpleasant at times, but he’s also broodingly good looking in a way that makes Martin’s knees weak, and his voice is probably a sin in several religions.

He is also, almost certainly, tragically straight, because that’s the sort of luck Martin tends to have. It would certainly explain the almost frantic expression on Jon’s face at Tim’s words. His mouth works soundlessly for a few moments, his face going redder and redder, and eventually Martin has to put him out of his misery.

“It’s okay!” he says. “Tim, give him another dare, that one wasn’t fair.”

“A dare’s a dare,” Tim says folding his arms and looking incredibly self-satisfied. Martin has never wanted to strangle someone more than he does right in this moment.

“Go on, Jon!” Sasha cheers, slurring just a little bit. Not her fault, Martin reminds himself, she’s been plied with tequila. Jon hunches his shoulders up and scowls, and the expression really should not be so endearing but it reminds Martin of nothing so much as an affronted cat. Jon sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine, as long as this doesn’t end up in a complaint to HR. Martin, is it okay with you?”

“Err, what? Yeah, I - yeah,” Martin says intelligently, feeling his face go hot. Tim gives him a thumbs up.

“I don’t think we have an HR department,” Sasha notes, frowning.

“Well, just don’t let it get back to Elias then,” Jon says, and shuffles down the bench seat towards Martin. Up close, his brown eyes are framed by incredibly thick lashes, and he smells faintly of some earthy, spicy scent. His Cupid’s bow is possibly the most perfect shape Martin’s ever seen. His gaze meets Martin’s, and for a moment it’s just the two of them in the world, close and intimate.

“Okay?” Jon asks in a gentle tone that Martin’s never heard before, and Martin nods, his breath catching in his throat. Then Jon is leaning in and brushing his lips against Martin’s, and Martin’s heart is hammering in his chest as their mouths move carefully together. There’s the briefest instant when he feels Jon’s mouth open under his, soft and hot, and then it’s gone, and Jon’s pulling away. Jon’s cheeks are red, and he clears his throat awkwardly, glaring at Tim.

“There,” he says. “Happy?”

“Very!” Tim says, and then mouths an extremely unsubtle you’re welcome at Martin. Martin considers sliding underneath the table and army crawling his way out of this situation. His heart is still fluttering frantically behind his ribs.

“Okay Jon!” Sasha says, clapping her hands together. “You get to ask me now.”

“I, uh, I think I’ll just go for a quick cigarette,” Jon says, getting up hastily. “You - you lot keep playing, I’ll be back.”

He practically sprints out of the pub, and Martin watches the tense line of his shoulders as he goes. That inconvenient attraction is still swirling in his stomach, joined now by a sudden surge of guilt, and that terrible need he has to take care of anyone in distress. He sighs, and gets up.

“I’ll get the next round,” he says, and ignores Tim’s eloquent eyebrows as he heads towards the door.

Jon is outside, fortunately, not bolted off into the night without his coat or phone. He’s smoking a cigarette viciously, as if it’s done something to insult him, and Martin clears his throat to catch his attention. Jon’s shoulders sag minutely at the sight of him, and Martin can’t tell if that’s relief or disappointment.

“What brings you out here, Martin?” Jon asks, his tone strained. “I hope you haven’t taken up smoking?”

“Look, Jon,” Martin says. “Don’t pay any attention to Tim. It’s just a - a stupid game. He was trying to embarrass you.”

“He’s rather good at it.” Jon barks a humorless laugh. His shoulders hunch up again.

“Yeah, he is,” Martin sighs. “I’m - I’m sorry, I know it was awkward.”

“How are you doing, Martin?” Jon asks suddenly, apropos of nothing. Martin gapes, startled.

“Sorry?”

“It’s been almost a month, hasn’t it? Since you’re been staying at the Archives. I know it’s the safest place, right now, but it can’t be very...well, I never really thought to ask. How are you?”

Jon’s eyes meet his, serious and dark, and Martin can’t tear his gaze away. He feels himself flushing again, and he knows this is incredibly inappropriate, because Jon is his boss, and probably straight (although maybe not so much, judging by that kiss?) and in any case definitely not interested in Martin in that way. But Jon is also asking him how he’s doing, solemn and sincere, the same tone he used when he told Martin he’d be staying in the Archives for safety, and it makes something warm bloom in Martin’s chest. Something more than just aesthetic interest.

“I’m, umm, I’m fine,” he says. “It’s not great, obviously, and I’m - I’m a bit scared. We all are. But, I’m okay.”

“That’s good,” Jon nods. “I’m not always as...observant, as I could be. So, if you need something, or - or something’s wrong, just, uh, let me know, all right?”

“I - I will,” Martin says. “Thanks, Jon.”

Jon nods to him, and then stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“Right,” he says, “Let’s go and get the drinks in, and plan out what incredibly embarrassing thing you can ask our Mister Stoker on your next turn.”

He gives a small, sly grin that makes Martin’s stomach flip over slowly, and Martin grins in return.

“Sounds good.”

#the magnus archives #tma #my fic #jonmartin #writing prompts

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phantomwarrior12 · 4 years ago

Text

Reality

There's an eloquence in the way she leans over the holomap. Fingers splayed against cool metal, frame poised in a determined stance that seeps a concentration Isaac has long since abandoned at the ungodly hour of four a.m.

They've been up all night, pouring over the map for strategic weaknesses in the Federal Army's defenses. Sam - no, Locus - has been more thorough than unusual and, at the moment, Isaac would like nothing more than to throttle him for it. Then again, hours in the same room with Vanessa Kimball grants him a rare view. The dim lighting casting over the General's exhausted frame, the subtle shadows that dance across her features beneath soft chestnut locks. He can't remember when the late nights turned into something more than work or a necessary strategic meeting. He can't remember when he started paying more attention to the curve of her hips beneath the baggy sweatpants she wears to bed or the rise of her oversized hoodie when she straightens up to stretch stiffened, aching muscles.

He could watch her work for hours, but the heavy bags under her eyes remind him of the time and he sets down his coffee mug. "Kimball, it's late. You should get some rest."

"We're missing something," she leans forward once more, squinting at the map accusingly.

"Then that something is going to have to wait until morning," he stands, clasping his hands above his head and leans side to side, "It's late and all good Generals need to get some rest so they're not useless in four hours when they get up."

"I'm fine, just need some more--" she pauses when she tears her eyes away from the map to look into the empty coffee mug. Soft violet darts to the pot that sits empty on the far desk and then to Isaac's cup.

"Empty. Which means bed." He reiterates, moving around the desk to shut off the holomap.

"Felix--"

"Bed." There's a sternness to his voice as he meets her protesting gaze. He's very aware of how close she is, the few fleeting inches between their frames - though, if she notices, she doesn't show it. He often wonders if she's begun to notice the little things, or if he's fallen into a one-sided longing for his boss that will go no where for reasons beyond his split loyalties.

She stares up at him defiantly, brows furrowed in an expression that Isaac can only describe as something akin to adorable. "I outrank you."

"You hired me, there's a distinct difference between outranking and paying, sweetheart."

The term startles her, confusion consuming her features as she studies him, "What?"

It's too late to backpedal and Isaac doesn't think he'd want to at this point. He vaguely enjoys the flustered expression, but not enough to try his luck. So, he ignores her question, turning instead to move their mugs over to the other desk, "You hired me, and while that technically makes you my boss, I think of it more as a partnership. Which means, you need to go to bed so my partner is alert in the morning."

He can almost hear the sputtering in her mind, the idle thought that she'd misheard despite the shared knowledge that he had, in fact, slipped in a term of endearment - at least, one that didn't sound patronizing for once. She settles for a brief moment before returning a sharp, "Bold words from a man who hardly sleeps himself."

"You hired me to work, not sleep on the job," he props himself against the desk, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a lazy smile, "Get some rest, Vanessa. There will be time enough to beat the Federal Army in the morning."

He surprises them both with tenderness in his tone, the warmth in glistening brown as they stare back at the General.

If nothing else, it's enough to drain the fight from her frame as she offers a reluctant nod.

"Fine. I expect to see you back in here at 0830 tomorrow morning then."

"Yes, ma'am."

She lingers a moment longer before shuffling towards the door and down the hall as Isaac stares after her, arms folded haphazardly across his chest. His mind drifts to a myriad of scenarios that involve how all of this could turn out.

None of them end well.

And it's that, more than anything that reminds him to hold his tongue. He's almost glad Sam can't see him now: smitten yet stubborn.

And it's as if his partner knows as the communicator on his wrist flashes a brilliant crimson. He heaves a sigh, glancing towards the door before accepting the hail.

You're late.

"Your fault."

How is your inability to check in on time my fault?

"Defense schematics were too well done. We've been up all night looking at them," Isaac rubs at his eyes as if it will emphasize his point.

Yours was no less enjoyable.

He mimes Sam's response petulantly before casting a glance towards the door, "What do you want?"

Delivery arrives in the morning. Said to carry a variety of Freelancer tech.

"Good, we could use a re-supply," he stares accusingly at the empty pot of coffee, deliberately ignoring the second part.

There's something else.

"What?"

There will be Freelancers on the transport. So, if anyone's going to survive--

"It'll be them," his eyes dart back to check the door briefly, "Alright. If there's nothing else, my bed beckons."

Locus out.

"So dull with his exits. It's never: be careful or good luck. Just Locus out. You have no flair for the dramatics," he picks up the deactivated commlink and makes his way down the hall and to his bedroom for a few hours before duty.

Sometimes he wishes he'd never taken this job, especially now that he's gotten himself attached.

Fuck.

--------------------------

The coffee is already brewing as Isaac shuffles into the briefing room, his helmet tucked under his arm.

"You're late." Kimball remarks without sparing him a glance.

"You said 0830. It's 0831." He returns, setting his helmet on the table and stifles a yawn.

"You're still late."

He snorts lightly, allowing soft hazel to drift over her frame as they had only a few short hours earlier. This time - this time there's no subtle curve of her hips, no fleeting glimpse of her torso. No, this time she's in battle mode, armor secured in place and her helmet resting a few short inches from his own.

He almost finds her more attractive when she's geared up to kick ass - and that isn't a particularly wise line of thought.

He shakes his head to dismiss the image as he makes his way over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup of the watery sludge, "Did you sleep?"

"The Federal Army moved up. There was--"

"Vanessa."

He knows she can hear the chiding edge in his voice, tensing under the weight of his gaze as he props himself against the table.

But she doesn't look up, likely feigning a falsehood to get him off her back, "Yes. I did."

It's his turn to tense. It's a curt response. Tight-lipped and he doesn't like the sinking sensation that settles in the pit of his stomach - or perhaps it's just the God-awful coffee.

In either case, he leaves it alone as he straightens up, making his way to her side to investigate the map she's so enthralled in. "You were saying...about the Feds?"

She nods, handing him a data pad with a file pulled up on the screen. "Reconnaissance report came in this morning. The Feds have strengthened their forces along the eastern border. So, either they’ve got something special planned--"

"Or they've got a visitor." Hazel skims over the information quickly.

"Exactly."

He looks over to see the twinge of excitement glinting in violet. He loves to see that subtle spark, that flare of something violent and reckless and hellbent all compressed into a singular look. It takes him a moment, aware that she's staring at him expectantly before he nods, "Doyle? Locus?"

"Could be both," she looks back down at the holomap, "Think about it, Felix. If we can kill one or both of them, this war will be over."

"I'm never one to complain about a swift victory," he returns, forcing the apprehension from his voice. If she tries to kill Locus, he'll have no choice but to kill her to preserve their mission - that's the last thing he wants to do.

"Felix?"

Her voice drags him out of his thoughts as hazel flickers upwards to meet her confused gaze.

"You alright?"

"Fine," he sets the 'pad down, forcing a cocky grin into place. "Just thinking about that sweet payday...and, y'know, the sweeping victory." He prays he sounds more convincing than he feels, that she can't detect the sickening weight settling on the pit of his stomach, the unsteady waiver of his frame as he leans against the table. He can't lose her, the thought itself--

"Right, I'm sure that's it."

"Skepticism, Kimball? Really? Thought you knew me better than that."

I wish you knew me at all.

He knows she's gauging the believability of his features, but his poker face never fails...when it matters.

Finally, she relents and shifts soft violet back to the holomap, "Just stay focused while we're out there. I don't want to lose any more men, Felix."

"Yes, ma'am."

-----------------------

Taglists are open! Send me an ask/leave a comment to be added!

RVB Forevers: @mamma-dragon @spoopyghostgirl @pieces-of-a-whole RVB Mercs: @antsyserpentine

#red vs blue #felix rvb #felix mcscouty #vanessa kimball #locus rvb #felix #rvb felix #isaac gates #isaac felix gates #rvb mercs #kimblix #samuel locus ortez #rvb locus #locus #sam ortez #samuel ortez #rvb fanfic #phantom writes

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benkouji726 · 5 years ago

Text

So I wrote my 5+1 Forlex fic, as I was saying earlier. I really lack impulse control when it comes to rnm, sigh.

Jealous Guerin may have some appearances in this fic too, but it’s eventually Forlex.

This is the first part of it. I will try to update it daily, before I lose my nerves.

Five times Alex surprised Forrest and one time he didn’t

It was supposed to be some harmless fun, at first.

Forrest was intuitive, to put it mildly. You didn’t grow up in a Long household and become this well-liked and popular family member by being dense, especially when you were gay. Besides, his gut feeling had saved him more times than he could count in battles, it was one of the reasons his buddies trusted him with their lives.

He was very good at reading people and situations around or between them. He didn’t always care what people thought of him, of others or of themselves, but he noticed all the same and would efficiently use that information to his advantage. Call it his people skills, but it was how he managed to live through his rebellious youth period, his military years, and now his adult life in a backwards town like Roswell, while never stopped being his colorful-haired, emo-poetry-writing, 20 pounds of personality in a 5 pound pocket-sized body self.

So he had known there was something between Alex and Alien Guy even when they first met at the Long farm. As they talked, it was like there were only them in the whole world. The air seemed thicker and more tangible, the atmosphere charged. Then at the diner, Forrest noticed the meaningful glance Alien Guy shot his way. When Alex sang that song, Guerin walked in and they seemed to have some soul searching conversations through their eyes only, well, it was really not that hard a guess who the song was for. And frankly, Alex needed to work on his poker face a LOT if he was ever gonna sell that obvious “it was a long time ago” lie.

But at the time, it hadn’t really mattered. Whatever it was between them, it seemed neither of them was going to make a move. And Alex was so hot sometimes he wondered how the hell he remained single in the first place, but he WAS single, and a smart guy like Forrest was never gonna miss out a perfectly good opportunity to make out with a hot guy and have some fun time with him.

It was supposed to be just like that, some fun, some company, some glorious make out sessions. Nothing heavy or potential heartbreak or anything.

Which was probably why he didn’t even realize he was falling for Alex until it was a bit of too late.

They were dating for two months at that point. Forrest had met almost all of Alex’s friends and family members (the ones who counted as friends and family in Alex’s book anyway), minus Michael Guerin. And Forrest had won them over one by one. He once overheard Liz call him “charming, funny, honest and loyal to a fault”, to a reluctant Isobel Evans, who had been giving him stink eyes ever since he and Alex had gone out, but in their last get-together thingy (Forrest honestly didn’t know how to call these, because they were irregular as fuck, both in schedule and in attending member counts), Isobel joined him at the bar when he was getting them the last round, considered him for a second, patted him on his shoulder without looking at him and said in a small but genuine voice: “You are not half bad”. So Forrest would call it a win.

In hindsight, it should have been his first warning sign that he cared so much of what Alex’s friends think of him. But in his defense, Alex was most at ease when he was with his friends, which meant he would always be sweet, adorable, sometimes sassy, sometimes soft, and had the unique sense of humor in a deadpan way, and Forrest was too busy being charmed to notice it.

So when his platoon buddies, Tony and Chris, came into town to visit him and he brought Alex to have a beer together, he was so caught off guard when Alex went to bathroom and Tony said:

“Man, you’re so gone on him, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t even a question.

Forrest spluttered, red faced, and said, eloquently: “uh, what?”

Tony and Chris changed a look, both amused. “You’ve been staring at him all night, Long. You look at him as if he hung the moon. You can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself, not to be PDA or something, but little touches, I think you didn’t even notice. He made a joke earlier, granted, it WAS hilarious, but the way you laughed, like you think he is the most funny guy in the whole world, which, no offense, is really not the case.”

Tony drank some water after his long ass bullshit, and Chris went in for a final blow. “So in conclusion, you’ve had it bad, dude, like, we’ve-never-seen-you-like-this level bad.”

Forrest was dumbstruck at that. He must’ve seemed like a dumbass too, because they decided to take pity on him, and changed the subject.

“Anyway, you know we’ve been relocated to the nearby base, Tobias and Leo are near enough too. The others all cashed in some long-overdue vacation days so we can have a little get together for our platoon in Santa Fe next month. You should come too.”

OK, that was exciting news. He missed his buddies and would be very happy to spend some time with them.

But Tony hesitated a little before continued: “There is a catch though. We thought it would be nice that we all bring our significant others, or even our children. So it would be a more family style setting. It may not be your thing.”

The thing was, it would totally be Forrest’s thing. He just didn’t know how to say it. With his platoon buddies, he always seemed like the free spirited lone wolf, easygoing, open and honest, but never the one to talk about family issues or kids problems with. But he would enjoy being surrounded by family love and loud but innocent kids, so he opened his mouth to just say that when he was interrupted by a light laugh.

“What are you guys talking about, family and kids and platoon buddies all under the same roof? It’s totally his thing.”

Forrest was startled, both by Alex’s sudden reappearance and his seemingly psychic ability to read his mind. When he remained silent a second too long, Alex apologized.

“Sorry, did I overstep? You actually don’t want to go or...?”

“No! I mean, yes, I wanna go. I just, something they said earlier, it was a lot to unpack. But you are right, I would love to go.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie.

Alex didn’t seem to buy it, but he was kind enough to drop it at the time.

On their drive home though, Alex picked it up again, as Alex would do, because he was a stubborn son of bitch like that.

“You wanna talk about what happened earlier?”

Forrest sighed. Best to just cut to the chase.

“Why did you say it was totally my thing? We didn’t often talk about family and kids, if any.”

Alex frowned, “No, we didn’t normally talk about that stuff. But it’s obvious you like family energy and friendly gatherings, isn’t it? Am I not supposed to know that?”

“But how? I served with my buddies for a long time, we trust each other with our lives. But almost none of them know it.”

“Forrest”, Alex smiled, “you like almost all of your family members, stay friends with a lot of them, despite some of them are real assholes. You even like hanging out with my friends and family too, not just because we are dating, but because you love being around people who give you warm family-like feelings. You organize every open mic night at the pony, and are genuinely interested in the acts and the people behind them, you like to talk to them about their lives and their relationships. You volunteer at the youth shelter. You are, simply put, a people person. You like people, you see good in them, you want to be around them and be a positive influence for them. You don’t necessarily tolerate stupid bigots, and you would be the first to call out their cowardice, but if they are willing to change and be better, you would want to believe in them too.”

He exhaled, oblivious of Forrest’s stunned expression, and continued.

“For a man who has that big a heart, I’d imagine spending some time with his buddies and their families would totally be his thing, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, but...”

“And there’s also your poetry.”

Forrest was getting whiplash tonight, he could hardly keep up.

“My poetry?”

“Yeah, you gave me your emo poetry journal the other day and asked for my opinion?”

“I remember that. In fact, I remember it was a week ago and I still haven’t got any feedback yet.” If he was being honest, he would say he had been a little hurt by that too.

Alex’s face turned a shade pink. “I know I was being a little slow. But I just want to do them justice, you know? I’ve been reading each of them multiple times, so I can get the gist right.”

OK, hurt instantly healed. He really should be concerned how Alex’s words could so easily affect his mood.

“Anyway, the poems you wrote, they are all very pro-humanity, at least in my opinion. Like, the themes vary, some about personal journeys, some about lost love, some about struggling life, some about anger and pain. But the words have something like warmth attached to them, like despite all, there’s hope, and there’s good, in people, in humanity, in the whole world.”

He looked down at his hands then, voice quiet.

“And that’s the thing I like most about you.”

Shit.

“Shit”, It was definitely too soon, but Forrest just can’t not say it. “I think I might be falling for you.”

Alex looked at him right then, hesitated then determined: “I don’t think I’m there yet. But I think I could see myself heading down that road someday.”

He added in a more unsure voice: “Is that OK?”

Forrest reached out, squeezed his hand, and reassured him: “It’s OK”.

And it really was.

#forlex #forlex fic #my fic #alex manes #forrest long #roswell new mexico

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imreallystressed · 5 years ago

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nothing is okay /j (pt. 1?)

word count: ~2000 pairings: general angsty platonic DLAMPR, more specifically platonic roceit and the creativitwins, and some angsty (platonic) anxceit because we’re here anyway. warnings: angst! so much of it. angry virgil, yelling, self-deprecation (thanks ro) and the like, crying, remus and his remusy ways, spoilers!! if you need something tagged shoot me an ask! notes: WOW this got out of hand. im almost definitely continuing this oops!! also while this is not meant to be unsymp virgil AT ALL, it could potentially be perceived as such just because we don’t know his reasoning. if you want it tagged let me know! there is. a cliffhanger. at the end,, but it is 100% optional and if you want to imagine a happy ending go for it!! ill write one too, i promise, but i need a break oops next! AO3 LINK

“Right,” Roman had said, or something along those lines, and then he had sunk out. Left. Always too scared to own up to his mistakes, and always too arrogant to even admit he made them.

He had sunk out, ended up in his room, because it was the only place he could ever feel safe anymore, what with the looming threat of his brother, who only came with some fun and terrifyingly complicated emotions he always chose to ignore. He’d never related so much to Logan.

He was in his room, and then he was in his bed, the tears in his eyes and guilt cloying at his chest making every movement feel clipped, like the whole world was moving at three frames per second, jumping around instead of the steady stream of ideas his room usually provided. Yes, his room was safe. But he was so, so alone.

He’d collapsed into his bed, wrenched his hands in the soft duvet until he swore he could feel the fabric tearing, and there he’d stayed for God-knows-how-long. He would guess somewhere around the three hour mark, at least since Patton knocked on his locked (always locked) door and he’d given no answer. Then again, Roman always had a way of losing track of time, helplessly locked in place as the hours flew by.

It had been, in fact, three hours and twenty-eight minutes since Roman had done his sort of... controlled free-fall into the bed, and hadn’t moved. His face had a print on the side, likely from the sequined pillow that he had fallen onto by chance - he hadn’t noticed the uncomfortable prick of plastic shards until he got up, rubbing his face with sore hands. He had, in fact, torn the cover of his duvet, but it was nothing he couldn’t imagine away when he was feeling better, or even take a needle to.

His head still felt stuffed full of cotton, but the feeling of guilt worming its way around inside his chest, up his throat was all too sharp. His first course of action was to apologise.

After that, well.

He would burn that bridge when he got to it.

He made his way over to the attached bathroom, splashing some water on his face with sluggish movements, trying to cool off his burning eyes or clear away the redness on the right side of his face. The water helped, however little, and he felt marginally better, more clear-headed at the very least.

Of course, with his senses now unimpaired, he was able to hear the yelling.

At first, it just sounded like some general voice - vaguely Thomas, but could also just be a stock audio of a man shouting into a microphone. Just under that, though, when Roman blinked tightly and focused a little more, was a faint gravel, oh-so-familiar, one that matched neatly with a grinning face and easy banter - Virgil. Virgil was yelling.

Roman dried his face roughly, irritating his skin more, and zoned out completely as he waited in front of the mirror for the red blotches to fade. Virgil’s voice faded in and out, sometimes stopping entirely. Roman couldn’t tell if someone else was interrupting him or if he was just that out of it.

Finally, after what felt like an hour of choppy-but-definitely-not-pleased dialogue and the sound of waves and misplaced bits of the conversation from earlier washing over his head, myriad colours and shapes dancing across his vision, Roman glanced back up at the mirror.

He looked normal - or, well, the normal from the past few months. Before that, there might’ve been a little more colour in his cheeks, or light in his eyes. He smiled, just to test it, and found his smile both reassuring and wholeheartedly wretched. Pretty, yes, enough to fool anyone looking, including himself - but just that. Pretty. Nothing behind it, no real emotion.

Roman straightened his sash. He could work with pretty, right?

“Don’t touch me!” shouted Virgil’s muffled voice, and Roman opened his door.

The first person he saw was Remus, lounging on the sofa cross-legged, his smile just as deranged as usual but his eyes pinched, like he was making a real effort to keep up his... peppy attitude. God, Roman could relate.

Then Patton and Logan, who both brightened upon seeing him, if you could call relief brightening. They were standing next to each other, but several feet apart - almost like they were ready to move, hold someone back. Patton wore a peacemaking smile that was obviously slipping off his face, his glasses sliding down his nose. Logan looked significantly more composed, his hands clasped behind his perfectly straight back (the only straight thing about him, Roman thought automatically) instead of hovering, like Patton’s. Like Remus, his mouth was set in a line normal for him, but his eyes were lidded slightly, not quite glaring but certainly not approving.

And then, of course, like the centerpiece in an odd stage, Virgil and De- Janus. Janus’ stance was defensive, pulled back with his hands raised by his sides. Virgil’s stance was none of that - he’d leant forward, hands thrown out beside him, gesturing wildly. Janus’ face was unreadable, eyes conveying some sort of sorrow, possibly, but mouth set in a classic smirk as he met Virgil’s eyes.

Virgil looked absolutely furious.

Roman’d seen him angry, sure, plenty of times. A lot of the time directed at him. But he’d never seen Virgil truly upset. Like end-of-the-world, life is over, “I’m going to stab you to death with a kitchen knife” upset.

Roman stepped into the living room. Patton threw him a brief smile - a real one, not a “please don’t kill each other on the carpet” smile. Logan gave him a nod, and raised one eyebrow in a silent question, which Roman answered with a smile. His fake smile, but a smile nonetheless, and Logan didn’t seem to mind.

Virgil barely seemed to register that he was even there, continuing whatever point he had started. Roman heard a lot of words, angrily shouted, but none of them that he hadn’t already thought about.

Janus glanced over at him quickly, almost unwilling to look away from Virgil, and gave him a tiny smile, or just the ghost of one. Roman felt a tiny shred of guilt fall away from his chest.

Sudden movement caught his eye, and then Remus was next to him. His smile was gone, and instead of looking insane and slightly worried, he just looked like... well, like Roman.

Back in the beginning, right after the Split, both Roman and Remus were told, separately, that they tended to mirror each other. Completely subconsciously, one would copy the tiny mannerisms of the other. According to Logan, it was painfully obvious, especially when they stood next to each other.

Some far-off part of Roman’s brain wondered if he was doing that now.

“They’re fighting,” Remus said.

“To answer your question, I do have eyes,” Roman responded instantly, forcing down a panicked wave of nostalgia and memories of Thomas’ carpet on his face.

Remus didn’t laugh, but the side of his mouth did quirk up a little bit, and Roman felt like they were kids again, watching Logan and De- Janus debate.

“Oh please, like you’d know anything about being honest with feelings-”

There went that happy thought.

“How long have they been like this?” Roman asked, in part to distract himself from how dry his mouth was all of a sudden.

Remus screwed up his face. “Ugh, time. Long enough for a horse to bleed out.”

Roman blinked at him.

“Like two or three hours. You know I suck at time. We both do.”

Roman had to suppress his flinch at that one, turning his gaze back to the two in the center of the room. “Two or three hours? And they’re still going like this?”

“Oh, you should’ve seen Virgil when he first found out. Entertaining stuff,” Remus said, but it lacked his usual screech of laughter.

“Has anyone tried to interrupt?”

“Almost got decked.”

Roman sighed. “If I asked to talk to... Janus. Alone. Would Virgil kill me?”

“No. You’re the only one he hasn’t actively screamed at.”

“I was in my room this entire time, of course he hasn’t-”

“Or about,” Remus continued. Roman avoided his eyes, suddenly finding the ground very interesting. “In a negative way.”

Remus nudged his shoulder, and headed back for the sofa. Roman didn’t have time to shove away the feelings box that time - but he did have the foresight to hide his reaction to it.

“Janus!” he called, before he could talk himself out of it. Both Virgil and Janus paused, and suddenly Roman had four pairs of eyes on him - Remus was fiddling with some kind of string contraption that Roman really hoped wasn’t going in his room later. “Can I - can I talk to you? Alone?”

Janus looked back at Virgil and then to Roman again, his expression a closed door, and took a step towards him. Roman gestured to his room, and Janus made a beeline for it without hesitation. By the time Roman was closing the door, Patton had already clasped his hands on Virgil’s shoulders.

The last thing Roman saw before he shut the door was Virgil’s face, utterly heartbroken.

“If he asks you to pick a side, don’t,” Janus said the moment the handle clicked.

“Huh?” Roman responded, very eloquently. “Oh! Uh, sure?”

“It’s- he’s already mad at Patton. And that’s my fault.”

“It’s really not,” Roman responded instantly. Janus gave him an expectant look. “I assume he’s mad at Patton for... being your friend? Or something. And that’s fine, I don’t know what happened, but it’s not your fault, right? ‘Cause Patton made that choice and he seems to be sticking with it, and that’s his choice, not yours. So- yeah.”

Janus looked absolutely baffled, and Roman realized all in a rush that nothing he had just said made any sense, but Janus interrupted him before he could say anything.

“I- thank you, Roman. I appreciate it,” he said softly, and wow, did he actually understand any of that?

“No problem,” Roman said, rushing on. “I wanted to apologise. I didn’t - I shouldn’t have made fun of your name. It was mean, and I was lashing out, and I’m really sorry, and it’s actually a really cool name and I didn’t know you were into mythology-”

“Roman.”

Roman shut his mouth so fast there was an audible click.

Janus looked slightly pained, glancing around the room awkwardly. His tongue was moving inside his mouth, but he wasn’t saying anything, like he was thinking of the right words. Roman toyed with his fingers nervously, waiting.

“Okay,” Janus said, and Roman’s head shot up. “I accept your apology, even if I think it was unnecessary.”

“I-” Roman began, but Janus held up a hand to cut him off.

“I apologise too. Comparing you to Remus was low blow, and it didn’t make much sense anyway. Neither of you are evil. You’re nuanced.”

“We weren’t,” Roman mumbled.

“You are,” Janus repeated, frowning. “Years of personal growth have that effect.”

Roman smiled faintly. “Thank you.”

“Just common courtesy-”

“Not for that. But that too, I guess.”

Janus met his eyes, and they shared some kind of look, before he looked at the door again, sighing.

“I guess I should get back to that.”

“I can ask him to calm down.”

“It won’t work, and he has a right to be upset,” Janus said, pointedly avoiding Roman’s silent question. “You should sit with Remus. Make it obvious you don’t want to be involved, and we part as neutral.”

Roman frowned a little bit - neutral certainly didn’t sound good - but nodded anyway.

Janus opened the door.

(stop reading here to avoid the AngstTM cliffhanger and come up with your own ending :7)

(i can’t put another break so we’re using parentheses babey!!)

They stepped into the living room, eyeing Patton, Logan, and Remus, who all wore different shades of “distinctly guilty”.

The room was quiet.

Virgil was nowhere in sight.

#sanders sides #sanderssides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #ts fic #ts spoilers #roman sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #roceit #tw angst #stressed writes shit #longpost

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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

Text

THE GOD’S FANGS : Fantasy : Dirkhan in the Desert

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Dirkhan in the Desert

THE GOD’S FANGS

by De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

2225 words

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. I will further allow the use of printed copies for educational use in school classes. No charge of any kind may be made for this use, whether paper, ink, binding, packaging, distribution or any other charge whatsoever.

Fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions are actively encouraged!

///////////////////////

Dark it was, a night of wind, torn and racing cloud wrack, and biting chill. A grim moon showed all with a ghastly waning gibbous glow. Only those with desperate errands or, of course, thieving rascals were out, braving the gloom and frigid breeze.

The cold gusts found every chink in Uman’s tight pulled cloak. He was making his way up Vintner’s Row. Clutching the still precious but now empty date wine flask close, he muttered, “”Just the night for a warm drink. Old Cormag always gives a man a free drink in return for a bottle to fill and sell. A copper fluket or a drink is the standing offer and tonight, the drink it is.”

The wind was swirling dust and grit over the wall of Dirkhan in the Desert. “This wind might as well be the spirits of those who’ve died of thirst in the desert of Skrald Iden jealously trying to keep an honest man from getting his drink,” thought Uman. He barked a small laugh at the ridiculous notion of himself as an honest man.

The laugh drew the attention of two of Dirkhan’s City Watch. “Who goes?” they called out, hoping for a stray dog or a desert cat. Instead, Uman stepped boldly from the shadows.

He greeted the guards, “Mowat, Celdor, a vile night to be out on duty or for any other reason. Some of us truly appreciate your efforts and dedication. Here, a fluket each for a warm drink to share with me up at Old Cormag’s.” Fishing in his pouch, Uman produced and offered two of the small coins.

Eying Umans’s flask, Celdor asked bluntly, “Why not a sip from your bottle instead?”

Smiling sadly, Uman shook the offending flask and replied, “You could. You could indeed, but you will get more with my fluket. This is an empty that I’m taking to Old Cormag for his standing offer of a drink for a bottle to fill.”

Mowat made up his mind, saying, “We’ll take you up on the drink, Uman. Unfortunately, we have to arrest you anyway. Somebody broke into the Temple of Motar and stole the god’s golden fangs tonight. Magistrate Jumpar thinks that it was you.”

Uman’s eyebrows rose in amusement. Grinning broadly, he asked, “What? Pulled in twice in one night, Mowat? Do you like Magistrate Jumpar?”

Celdor’s face twisted in anger and he spat at a roil of dust whirling down the lane. “Not one bit. The Highborn bastard always pays us with coins so worn and clipped that they ain’t worth but a part of what we’re supposed to get.”

Nodding in sympathy, Uman agreed, “Such has been my experience with Jumpar also. If you would like to pay him back and yet still do his Written Will, come up to Cormag’s for that warm drink while we discuss the matter. I will come with you freely after it.”

A short while later, in Magistrate Jumpar’s dingy Court Room, Uman was hustled into the prisoner’s wicket. A pair of cressets flamed fitfully, one to either side of the Magistrate’s bench, showing walls of the same dull tan mud brick that most of Dirkhan was made of. Celdor shut the prisoner’s wicket firmly.

Mowat faced the balding, sallow faced Magistrate and stated, “According to your Written Will, we have apprehended the miscreant Uman the Fat. For this Service of Justice, we are due a silver Djal.”

Negligently waving a hand that reminded Uman of a vulture’s claw, Jumpar declared loftily, “I will pay you presently. At the moment I have only a golden Djaballa.” He squirmed a bit on his magistrate’s bench as he tried to straighten hastily donned Magisterial robes.

Celdor promptly began to open the prisoner’s wicket. Mowat watched in approval, stating clearly, “You’re learning, Celdor. No payment, no Service. Sorry to inconvenience you, Uman. We will have to arrest you another time, when the bench has the proper money for its Services.”

Grinning, Uman held up a hand. “Not so swiftly, my friends. I have the correct change right here. It would be a shame indeed for our good Magistrate’s Justice to fail for so small a thing.” Uman fished in his pouch and produced seven silver Rilks and five silver Djals, all of pristine, unclipped, unshaved coins.

With an innocent smile, he offered, “I’ll just take that Djaballa and you can use this money to pay our good watchmen for their Services of your Written Will, as necessary.”

Sourly, Jumpar handed his golden coin over to his prisoner who courteously gave the Magistrate the handful of silver. Ostentatiously, Uman tested the Djaballa against a tooth, observing, “Can’t be too careful. Somebody might have cheated our honest Justice Jumpar.”

Glaring at his prisoner, Jumpar demanded, “Uman the Fat, do you know why you are here?”

Leaning negligently against the side of the wicket, Uman replied, “According to your Written Will, I stand accused of stealing the Golden Fangs from Motar’s idol this very night. I have cooperated with the guard in every way because of this specific crime, I am innocent.”

Eyebrows raised almost to his non-existent hairline, Jumpar sneered, “Of this crime? You? Innocent?” Sternly he went on, “It is not possible. You were seen in the Temple of Motar today. Clearly you were casing the temple for this night’s burglary.”

Turning on his bench to face Mowat, jumpar demanded, “Was the search required by my Written Will carried out?”

Looking up from cleaning his fingernails with a a small dagger, Mowat replied, “It was, Magistrate. For this Service of your Written Will we are due a silver Djal.”

Sighing in exasperation at having to let yet another good coin out of his grasp, Magistrate Jumpar handed over the money. Celdor promptly gave the Magistrate a stout sack well filled with pointed objects.

Baring his yellowed teeth in triumph, Magistrate Jumpar declared, “So! Innocent are you? Behold, the missing Fangs of Motar, stolen impiously from his Idol this very evening! Your guilt is obvious even to a child! There can be no defense against this evidence!”

Uman put his face in his hands to hide his smile while he composed his features into a proper look of despair. Glumly he said, “And yet, I must try. It is my very life that is forfeit if I fail.

“I will readily own that I was in Motar’s temple earlier today. I prayed for eloquence before Motar’s Mouth. After I prayed, I went to the Temple Blessing Shop. There, I purchased a complete set of the Fangs of Elocution. You have just most impiously dumped them out on the Bench without so much as a ‘bless me Motar’ for it.” Rummaging in his pouch, Uman produced a small slate streak plate, used to try the purity of gold and silver. Along with the slate, he produced a small slip of parchment.

Proffering both items to the Magistrate, Uman went on, “If the heft of those Fangs alone does not convince you, try their purity with this slate. Those are my brass Fangs of Blessing from the Temple Blessing Shop. This parchment is my receipt for a donation of two golden Djaballa. It is signed by junior priest Bulgulla.

“My gold was well spent, for my business went to my advantage. About sundown, I went to the Garden of Red Lamps to celebrate my success.”

Turning to the watchmen, Uman offered a silver Djal. “For your Service of Justice, this coin. Please tell Magistrate Jumpar where I spent this evening.”

Celdor shrugged cheerfully as he took the money. “You were in cell sixteen. We picked you up in a sweep after a brawl at the Garden of Red Lamps. After two and a half hours, we let you out because we determined that you were a bystander and not a part of the fight.

“We escorted you to Cormag’s Inn and left you there. When we received the Magistrate’s Written Will, we went back towards Cormag’s in the hope of apprehending you. We found you in the street, returning to the Inn for another drink.”

Celdor faced the furious Magistrate and proceeded, “This prisoner has cooperated with us in every possible way. He guided us to his lodgings and we found the evidence that was specified in your Written Will. We brought both the required evidence and the prisoner here. His degree of cooperation is demonstrated by his providing the necessary Price of Service to enable you to inquire into this heinous crime.”

Jumpar screeched, “If you knew all this, why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Mowat shrugged expressively and stated, “We have been upbraided before for speaking out. You have demanded that we not try to correct the Highborn. You know more and are wiser than we commoners, you have said. We simply assumed that you knew something that we did not.”

Glaring down from the Bench, Jumpar demanded, “Return the coins of Service. You should never have been paid them.”

Uman shook his head so vigorously that he made his head-cloth flip about. “Not so, Your Justice. These good watchmen have fairly done all that your Written Will required of them. It is no fault of theirs that you failed to check the evening’s arrest docket.”

Pointing a claw-like finger at the door, Jumpar screamed, “Get out of my Court!” Imperturbably, Uman stepped from the now open prisoner’s wicket and approached the Bench. “I’ll go when I have my Blessing and the receipt for the two Djablalla that they cost.”

Angrily, Jumpar swept the brass Fangs and receipt into the sack. Sighing, Uman offered, “Bless him, Motar, even if he is too angry to ask for it himself.” He took the bag and his leave.

/////////////

Presently, Uman was shown into the private audience chamber of the Merchant Prince Grabit. That worthy offered, “Palm heart wine, Uman? It is from the oasis groves of Palidor. How went our business?”

Uman sipped his wine while lolling back in the comfortably padded chair and took in the luxuriously appointed room. At last he replied, “Well and ill both. I got them, as promised. Here they are.” He handed a bag to Merchant Prince Grabit.

Grabit’s pudgy fingers expertly extracted the fangs and the parchment. Frowning, he examined them with a glass. Looking puzzled, he pronounced, “These are brass. A Blessing Shop set … No, they are too large.”

Eyes opening wide, he exclaimed, “Oh, my! The Golden Fangs of Motar are a fraud!”

Uman, leaning forward intently explained, “No. Motar’s Fangs are golden. Only this idol’s fangs are false. I know, because at one time or another, I’ve met and spoken with all nine of the True Gods.”

Grabit corrected, “Eight. There are only eight True Gods.”

“Nine,” stated Uman with authority. “Just because neither the Eight True Gods nor their priests like Ranton, patron of Theft and other disasters, doesn’t change the fact that he’s a True God. The Eight simply hate to admit it, that’s all.”

Sourly, Grabit agreed, “Being one of the Rich, I can understand their reluctance. So, when did you find that the fangs were false?”

With a wry smile, Uman replied, “As soon as I saw them up close.”

Puzzlement writ large on his plump face, Grabit asked, “Then why did you risk stealing them? Why not just report the fact to me?”

Relaxed, Uman answered, “I felt sorry for Motar. I told you that I’ve met him. I like him. By this, you can earn the very real favor of a True God and gain absolute power over his greedy priests at the same time.

“Just have these Fangs copied in real gold and return them to the Temple with a tale of your great risk and expense in finding the missing Fangs. Motar is sure to be pleased and reward you well. As long as you keep these originals, you can blackmail the priests to your heart’s content.”

A flunky in fine livery came into the chamber and whispered into Grabit’s ear while handing him a sheet of parchment. The flunky cast weasel like eyes at Uman and his lip twisted up into a derisive sneer as he left. The Prince informed Uman, “Maggit says that you cannot have done this deed. This is the record of your arrest for a brawl, earlier this evening and again later you were arrested, tried and acquitted of this very crime. I do believe that you did it, but how?”

Uman thought carefully of how much to reveal and said judiciously, “Misdirection, My Lord. I knew, from the routines of the priests, that the idol’s false fangs would not be missed until late. It is a common misconception that burglars must work after darkness falls. Even Magistrates who should know better believe it. I simply stole them earlier, in broad daylight.

“Provoking a brawl took care of the evening for me. All that I needed to do was help Magistrate Jumpar to keep the night in mind and he drew the same conclusion as Maggit. It gave me the best possible alibi. An official one.”

Pausing thoughtfully, Uman added, “Since you are putting a substantial amount of real gold into the Temple, you really should do something about the Sanctuary lock. I think that a poorly trained monkey could open it.”

—THE END—

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Dirkhan in the Desert

#THE GOD’S FANGS #Dirkhan in the Desert #Written by De Writer

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grandhotelabyss · 4 years ago

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My Year in Books, 2020

Introduction

I don’t want to waste your time, dear reader, with a list of all the books I read in 2020—you can track that on my Goodreads, if you care—nor even a list of all the books I wrote about on my site. But I would like to take the occasion of New Year’s Eve to revisit some of my favorites. Please click below for the list. Happy New Year!

1. Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

Reading old books can help us understand the present better than reading new books, which are often too caught up in today’s doxa to offer a true perspective on today’s world. Austen’s first major novel is a good example; what can help us understand class and gender better than this 19th-century narrative? As I wrote:

Marianne Dashwood (or Lily Briscoe or Sula Peace) has triumphed: today, she issues defenses of desire on podcasts and Patreon and posts pictures of her swollen ankle and putrid tonsils for the fetishists among her OnlyFans subscribers. If Elinor still functions as her conscience, she does so in the administrative bureaus of the corporation and university—human resources, diversity and equity—where her job is to intercept and interdict threats to the untrammeled unfolding of Marianne’s consciousness. This metamorphosis has undoubtedly liberated the individual from the stifling convention of bourgeois domesticity, but is the place where it has installed her now, where she must sell soul and body by algorithm just to stay alive, any less a prison?

I thought I’d get cancelled for that one, but nobody seemed to notice. Here’s another chance, cancel crew!

2. Giovanni Boccaccio, The Decameron

Like everyone else and for obvious reasons, I read The Decameron in 2020, but it didn’t make much of an impression, besides its historical interest. This might be the problem:

The late medieval personae and settings are different from the postmodern ones: clergy in place of technocrats, princes in place of corporations, and a network of land and sea routes where fiberoptic cables now run. But Boccaccio himself, in writing a comic prose work that has, according to the scholar Robert Harrison, been called “a mercantile epic,” did much to prepare the way for our world.

I’m sure this is a mix of presentism and philistinism talking, but a literary culture divided between Dante and Boccaccio would seem to have something wrong with it. The best writers earlier and later—Homer and Sophocles, Shakespeare and Joyce—seem capable of synthesizing what in Dante’s divine comedy and Boccaccio’s human comedy are held forcibly, artificially apart.

3. James Miller, The Passion of Michel Foucault

I review a scandalous biography of the theorist who may or may not have made our contemporary world:

His identification of a new oppressed class, and his observation of oppressive power structures working in precisely those institutions meant in the modern period to correct the “barbarities” of ages past with their torture chambers and ships of fools, would change the western left forever. The “abnormal” subject (rather than the worker) was now the protagonist of history, power (rather than exploitation) the mechanism of oppression, and modern scientific and liberal institutions (rather than capitalist economics) the enemy. Foucault’s anti-psychiatry stance is now in abeyance—a recent viral Tweet promised that “under socialism all men will be sent to therapy,” an old chestnut of Stalinist terror that redefines political dissent as mental illness in an instance of exactly the thinking Foucault meant to challenge. But the drift of his thought, toward the emancipation of western reason’s underside, still defines for many what it means to be on the left today. If the left once promised, per the Internationale, “reason in revolt,” Foucault offered unreason in revolt.

4. Plato, The Republic

A much misunderstood book, in my view:

Socrates clearly describes the defects of the soul’s non-rational divisions; by contrast, reason, ordained as it is to apprehend the perfection of the idea, is presumably faultless. Yet I would suggest that Socrates’s forgetting that divine inspiration is the source of poiesis, even as he utters poetry in praise of reason, is a flaw. If the fault of the soul’s appetitive part is an insatiable quest for more and more physical satisfaction, and if the fault of the soul’s spirited part is a desire for victory or conquest without limit, then might we not theorize a parallel danger in the soul’s rational part? And doesn’t Socrates exemplify this danger when he follows the autonomous logic of his argument past all experience, including the poet’s experience of divine inspiration?

What if we took up the hint and patterned contemporary novels on Platonic dialogues?

5. Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

I have mixed to negative feelings about this cult classic, but I had fun introducing its conspiracy-laden plot with some paranoia of my own:

Finally, canvassing the Wikipedia entry on the novel before I read it, I found that among the endless occult paraphernalia Eco packed into the text was “[a]n obscure one-time reference to the fictional Cthulhu cult through a quote from The Satanic Rituals—‘I’a Cthulhu! I’a S’ha-t’n!’. The words closed a ritual composed by Michael Aquino.” Aquino was a high-ranking Satanist and a psychological warfare expert for the U.S. military; he co-wrote the notorious Pentagon position paper “From PSYOP to MindWar: The Psychology of Victory”. Understandably, he recurs again and again in the annals of American conspiracy theory: the politically paranoid on the right abominate him for his Satanism, while those on the left loathe his anticommunist and militarist commitments. Through a vector I’m not at liberty to disclose, I am only two of the proverbial degrees of separation away from Aquino, though I have obviously never met him or had anything to do with him or even discussed him with anyone who has. I imagine conspiracy theorists will promulgate this curious fact widely on the Internet to discredit me whenever I finally become as famous as I deserve to be, considering that I am one of America’s great writers. (Megalomania and paranoia: like horse and carriage.)

And no, I still won’t tell you how I’m connected to Michael Aquino.

6. Thomas Mann, Mario and the Magician

Writing on this classic semi-anti-fascist novella, I wondered whether “anti-” is always the solution:

It is an old problem: how not to become what we behold, how not to transform into one’s enemy—how to be sure anti-fascism doesn’t become fully indistinct from fascism itself. Given our psychology, with its tendencies toward projective and dichotomous thinking, and given political realities, which often make violent confrontation seem fated, this may be an insoluble problem. Perhaps every anti-[X] is doomed by the occult law of similarities to become [X]; perhaps our time is better spent in simply not being [X] rather than defining ourselves against and therefore by [X].

7. Cormac McCarthy, The Orchard Keeper

I took the opportunity of McCarthy’s preternaturally eloquent first novel to clarify a point of political economy:

As I insist on reminding everyone from time to time, even at the risk of repeating myself, Lenin argues in Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism (a book I don’t claim to understand in every particular) that the monopolization of capital is the necessary and final stage of history before communism. Monopoly represents “a new social order, a transitional one from complete free competition to complete socialisation”—i.e., let the corporations do the work of centralizing production so that the biggest corporate body of all, the state, can easily assume the economy’s commanding heights. Marxism, therefore, is not really a challenger to neoliberalism but only the loyal opposition. Hence the chief theme of McCarthy’s corpus: how the inherent flaws of humanity and nature, those organic defaults that make the marketplace a necessary evil in both serving and curbing self-interest, immeasurably worsen when magnified to the scale of organized planetary warfare in the very name of their correction by rationality—or, as a pair of unorthodox Marxists called it, the dialectic of enlightenment.

Conclusion

Speaking of the economy, though, my most important literary event of 2020 was the publication of my novella, The Quarantine of St. Sebastian House, my attempt to turn contingent crisis into permanent art. With that, I leave you. Let’s hope the poet had it wrong when he said, “Nothing changes on New Year’s Day.”

#literature #literary criticism #philosophy #critical theory #literary theory #jane austen #giovanni boccaccio #plato #michel foucault #umberto eco #thomas mann #cormac mccarthy

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thevengeanceuniverse · 4 years ago

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Touch in the Dark Ch 4.2 (Bucky)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23556382/chapters/57374152

“Winter, the boy is here.” James waved to let Dmitri know to bring Tony—no, Stark, he needed to remind himself not to get too attached—in and he left without comment. James had been in a mood all day, unusually snappish and irritable. And he refused to believe it was because of the young man walking through the door who was just shy of 20 years old. Someone much too young to have any kind of effect on him.

Not to mention that the boy was Steve’s. This whole thing was becoming ridiculous. What he had started out as a game to just mess with Steve and his young paramour had ended up blowing up in his face. But. At least it was just sexual, some negligible attraction probably born from messing with someone who was with Steve.

They’d shared lovers before, just no one that meant anything. Beautiful, nameless one night stands discretely arranged by Natasha’s all-seeing eye that were pleasurable but easy to walk away from in the morning.

Thinking about the people easily walked away from made something chill inside of him and James embraced that cold, let it spread. When Stark walked in, James didn’t bother with a greeting, simply rising and barking out a brisk, “Follow me.”

He idly noted how Stark’s face shuttered at the coldness of James welcome, hiding the hesitant nervousness that had been writ plain on his features. James led the way to the fighting ring housed in the lower basement, three floors down from his office. The mid basement had a shooting range and the higher one had meeting rooms for some of his more paranoid contacts.

Dmitri met them there, hands already wrapped and a fresh roll in his hands that James took.

Nodding his thanks, he pulled Stark to him and lifted his hands. “Watch. You’ll have to do this for yourself next time.” Making sure Stark’s eyes were on his movements, James took his time wrapping the other man’s hands to protect his knuckles.

That done, he gestured to the ring. “A huge part of successful knife-fighting is footwork. You have to be quick on your feet, able to dodge and weave when someone is coming at you. Even while you defend yourself, you have to learn to simultaneously pick apart the openings in their movement and their form, finding the spaces to step in with your own attacks. The best thing to teach you that is boxing, so right now, we’ll start with Dmitri. Any questions?”

Stark’s warm brown eyes were wide and terrified at the quick recitation, revealing his alarm before he seemed to gather his determination. James noted how his hands were clenched into tight fists, but the younger man went into the ring, ducking and entering without hesitation. Dmitri shared a look with James, eloquently conveying his doubt but he also obediently went.

It became abundantly clear that Stark had very little skills whatsoever. Dmitri moved much slower than usual, and while Stark did dodge some hits, his body was stiff and uncomfortable. Dmitri aimed hits in what seemed like a random fashion to Stark’s inexperienced eyes, but James saw the calculation in the different levelled hits. It gave James good context to see Stark hit by multi-levelled attacks, observe how he was more likely to be able to block a mid-range hit to his core or chest than a low-level hit to his legs.

Sideways movement wasn’t too bad, but he didn’t know how to move backward without stumbling and seemed to have only some awareness of his surroundings. Stark’s surprise was clear on his face when he stepped back to avoid a hit and felt himself hit the ropes, causing him to glance behind him instinctively. Turning back to find a fist heading towards his face, James watched as surprise turned into pure terror and Tony reacted in a full-bodied flinch, arms rising in a desperate bid to protect his head.

Dmitri immediately backed off but Tony didn’t move, body trembling and panicked breathing audible in the silence. Fuck. He was having a panic attack.

James moved swiftly, ordering Dmitri to get some water as he moved into the ring, shrugging off his jacket and draped it across Tony’s trembling shoulders so he could be warmed by the fabric and residual heat. He very gently pulled Tony into a loose embrace that the young man could break if he needed to but would provide warmth and stability as he struggled to emerge from the nightmares in his mind.

James eased Tony down to the floor and pushed his head between his knees, rubbing his back soothingly. He pulled an arm still raised defensively and placed it over his chest, tapping a finger on it that echoed the beat of his heart. “Come on, Tony, that’s it, just breath for me. That’s a good boy, yes, just like that, deep breath in, let it out now, slowly, mhmm, very good, yea just follow me, do you hear that?” James continued to murmur soothing to the man in his arms, letting him rest his head heavily on his shoulder as he concentrated on breathing.

I should have expected this, he reprimanded himself. His mind flashed back again to the first day he met Tony, saving the young man as he was beaten brutally from his father. God, Tony was just like Steve and him, all of them united with legacies of abusive fathers, and he should have known that fighting would bring up horrible memories for him and overwhelm his mind.

James hadn’t had it as bad in comparison, his own father only drinking near the end, right before the accident. And even then, he and Steve had had each other to hold them up and see them through the tough nights. Tony had a brother to protect and no one to protect him.

Giving up trying to remain distant from Tony, he stroked his hand through the other’s hair and down his back in long motions, offering comfort, offering safety. Slowly, gradually, Tony allowed himself to be consoled, relaxing enough to breathe easily. Lifting his face from where it was resting on James, he pulled away, eyes avoiding James as he struggled to gather his shields. Intimately aware with avoiding people who’ve seen your vulnerabilities, James touched one finger to Tony’s jaw, tilting his head to meet his eyes with Tony’s haunted ones.

“Hey—”

Tony immediately interrupted, voice contrite. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—”

“I’ll do better next time. I promise. Just, don’t—please don’t give up on me.” James could see the self-flagellation starting to begin and he was quick to cut it off.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.” When Tony opened his mouth to butt in, James glared. “I’m going to kiss you again if you don’t shut up. And believe me, Steve wouldn’t even mind if he knew it was to stop whatever stupid self-blame that was about to come out of your mouth. So shut it before I shut it for you.”

Tony gaped at the threat but at least for now, he was too shocked to continue whatever toxic cycle was rolling in his head. Mission accomplished.

“Good. What I was saying was that this was my fault. I should have known better than to put a traumatized kid,” he snorted at Tony’s disgruntled expression, “in the ring without easing him in it first. Don’t worry,” at this, he softened his voice, “I’m not going to give up on you. We might have to go a bit slower and watch out for your triggers but we can do this. I can still train you and you’ll still be able to protect yourself and your loved ones.”

“Yea?” James felt his heart twist at the wet, hopeful look in Tony’s eyes. Damn, this boy was dangerous, no wonder Steve couldn’t say no to him.

“Yea.” Trading smiles with Tony, he rose to his feet, extending a hand to help him up. His mind noted the softness of Tony’s palms after nearly a year of little manual labour and he sighed, mourning the loss of that softness in the near future.

Catching himself for those ridiculous thoughts, he shook it off and led Tony back upstairs where Dmitri met them in the hallway.

“I took the liberty to prepare some food in the living room for the young man to eat if he desires, Winter.” He informed him in Russian. “It might do him some good to have something warm in his stomach.” Reminded once again of why Dmitri was his second, James clapped him on the shoulder and smiled, giving his thanks before letting his friend go eat his own dinner.

A couple of bowls of a rice stew waited for them in the living room, positioned on the coffee table with a couple of glasses and a pitcher of water. It was simple fare, fragrant and filling without being too heavy.

Dmitri knew that James sometimes liked to take his meals here, able to relax against the cushions of the couch easier than at his empty dinner table. James walked over to the arched windows, pulling down the heavy drapes on top of the gauzy ones to block any direct views from passersby or would-be assassins both. Then he made his way to the marble fireplace, kneeling in front to stack wood and tossing in a match to create a fire to warm the cold room. That done, he settled into the armchair, letting Tony take the couch and pouring them both some water.

The shaken man smiled in thanks before digging in ravenously. They ate in silence for a bit, both too concentrated on their stomachs to talk. Eventually Tony sat back, leaning his head against the backrest to gaze at the ceiling and cradling another glass of water between his knees, raising it to his lips every now and then.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Tony turned his head on the cushions, looking at James curiously.

“For letting you get triggered like that. Steve trusted me to look out for you and I did a shit job of it. I’m sorry.”

Tony just looked at James, soft honeyed eyes examining him before he sat up. “I’ll forgive you if you answer one question.” He waited for James’ agreement before speaking. “The kiss…” he paused, considering what he wanted to ask before blurting out, “Is that normal?”

James’ eyebrows came together in confusion at Tony’s question. “Is what normal?”

“The feelings.” Tony seemed to have pushed the words out through force of will and red flooded his cheeks. “It’s just, Steve is my first and I didn’t think I would feel anything, for anyone other than him because I love him.” His words held a combination of worry and fear and James realizes that enjoying their kiss had frightened Tony. He was worried that it meant he was a bad partner, no awareness that sometimes skill could cause pleasure just as much as feelings.

James ignored the voice in his head that reminded him that it wasn’t skill that made him lose himself, or forget that the kiss was a ploy to mess with Steve.

That voice could fuck off.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said rising and pulling Tony to his feet and into his arms. Tony’s eyes widened comically at the endearment and James’ closeness, but he was curious and waited to see what James would do. James’ mind spun with the knowledge of Tony’s innocence, even after months of being with Steve. “I’m going to teach you something, okay?” He kept his voice soft and questioning, and Tony gave a hesitant nod.

James stroked a hand up Tony’s back the way he had before, when he was soothing him. The movement relaxed him the same way this time that it had then, so James took it a step further, squeezing the nape of Tony’s neck with his hand. He dug the pads of his fingers into the muscles there, applying firm pressure and massaging into Tony’s skull. Tony went pliant, eyes fluttering in pleasure and mouth opening in a moan. James was amazed at how sensitive he was, how eager he was to drop at a pleasurable touch.

Unable to resist, James brought up his right hand and dragged his nails lightly up the side of Tony’s neck, inwardly delighting in his responding shiver. He dropped the hand massaging Tony’s nape and curved the arm around his waist, using the other hovering by his neck to cup his head and pull him closer until there were mere inches between their lips.

“Tony, look at me,” he murmured, soft words landing lightly on Tony’s lips as he tilted his head under James’ direction. He followed so sweetly that James had a moment’s envy for Steve. Honeyed eyes met his as Tony hmmed a questioning noise.

“This feels good, doesn’t it? Being held by me?” There was a dazed blink before the words seemed to filter in and the fog started to clear up in Tony’s eyes. Hurriedly, panicked hands rose to press against James’ chest, preparing to push away. James buried his hand back in Tony’s curls and resumed massaging Tony’s nape, quieting him and trying not to feel the thrill that went through him at Tony’s acquiescence. Knowing he had to be careful not to push Tony over the edge, he eased back just enough to squash the rising guilt and panic he could see in Tony’s eyes.

“It’s okay,” James soothed, watching as Tony’s eyes flickered from one eye to the next. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” He kept stroking lightly, waiting for Tony’s tentative nod. “But here,” he untangled his hand from Tony’s soft hair to press against his heart, “it doesn’t feel the same, does it?” Tony’s forehead crinkled in confusion and James laughed.

“Close your eyes.” He obeyed. “Now, think about Steve, and think about Steve touching you, his hands replacing my own.” The crease eased a bit but James saw that he still didn’t fully understand, thinking rather than feeling the memory of Steve’s touch. He brought his mouth close to Tony’s ear as he continued speaking, each breath a tantalizing brush that made Tony sensitive to every point where their bodies connected.

“Think about him, the way he holds you against him, his hands caressing your body, his lips on yours…Touching you, surrounding you,” his voice went even lower, “inside you.” Tony gasped and his eyes opened wide.

“You get it now, don’t you? I can please your body but Steve, it all means more just because it’s him. Because you love him.” And with that, he stepped back, walking with studied casualness to his armchair and dropping down, crossing his ankle over his knee.

“Okay mal’chik, it’s getting late so get out of here before Steve comes hunting you down.”

Tony seemed frozen in place, body still trembling. As James watched, he blinked a few times like a dreamer waking from sleep before sucking in a deep breath and pulling himself together.

“What does that mean?” Tony cleared his throat, words coming out less choked sounding. “That word you call me.”

James laughed. “Gay boy.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, but you called me that before I got together with Steve. How did you know I liked men before I did?”

“You were obvious.” James rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure there was drool when you so much as looked at Steve.”

Tony blushed again but he didn’t shy away. “I was eager for a taste.” Pink tongue flickered out to lick his lips illustratively and James had a vision of Tony swallowing Steve down just as eagerly as he enjoyed a massage, almost groaning out loud at the stab of lust he felt.

Fuck. Someone should not have the right to be so innocent and lusty at the same time, it was messing with James’ head. He probably needed to get himself a new lover. Someone who didn’t have blond hair and Irish skin or—god forbid—soft curls and a lithe body.

With a last grin, Tony left with Jeremy the driver as an escort and James relaxed in his chair, catching the scent of Tony on his clothes when he moved, that distinct blend of oranges and cream. Conflicted, he reflected how in one evening, Tony became Stark became Tony and James had the sneaking suspicion there was no going back.

#bucky is a mobster #tony is still innocent and prone to seduction #enemies to lovers #cheating?#mob story #boxing #training #fighting #winteriron #winterironshield #established stony #past stucky #fanfic #fanfiction #vengeanceworks

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santoteez · 5 years ago

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The New Girl’s got a Hangover - Soobin

Word Count: 1,145

Idol: Choi Soobin of TXT (Tomorrow x Together)

Genre: Fluff, Y/N fic, MC not described, mentions of drinking

Warnings: None, unless you count slightly flirtatious banter?? (Soobin is lowkey highkey my boyfriend and makes me so soft okay)

Edited: No (sorry)

I groaned as the sound of pigeons echoed through my brain. Sitting up, I rubbed my temples. Last time I drink that much damn tequila. I looked at my surroundings, sobering up immediately. Where the hell am I? I shivered as the cool breeze of the Hudson River hit my bare arms. Where the hell is my jacket? I knew it was a bad idea to go out my first weekend in a new city on my own in nothing but a tube top and jean jacket. A jean jacket that’s nowhere to be found.

Sighing, I got up from the bench I woke up on and look around. The park, or whatever I’m standing in, is completely deserted. Trees are slowly losing their leaves, swaying frantically in the wind. I checked my pockets, thanking whoever’s above that I still have my phone.

But who do I call?

“Leslie (New Boss)” Definitely not.

“Landlord” Nope.

I huffed in frustration. All my other contacts are back home in Florida. I literally had no one to call, and the streets were still empty. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion at the contact I last called.

‘Cute guy from the bar’

I shrugged. I had nothing to lose, and clearly I saw this person last night. I twiddled my fingers as the phone rang.

“Hello?” A deep voice said.

I felt stuck. What do I say? “Uh, hi. I have no idea where I am and your name was 'cute guy from the bar' in my phone and I just moved here so you're the only one I thought to call.”

“Oh.” The voice said, audibly flustered. “Okay. Look around. Tell me what you see.”

“Uh, trees?” I said. “Lots of them. I’m near the water.”

“Water? Do you see a water taxi around?”

I look up, seeing a bright yellow vehicle out on the water I didn’t notice before. “It’s a little far away, but I see it.”

“I know where you are. Just walk towards the water taxi, then make your way up to the street. I’ll come get you. Don’t hang up.”

I hear shuffling from the other side of the phone as I walked slowly in the direction he told me. Then, the jingle of keys and frantic footsteps descending stairs. Finally, the rev of an engine.

“Luckily, I live nearby. Give me a few. Did you reach the street yet?”

“Almost.” I said. Approaching the sidewalk, I noticed much more people out and about.

“I’m at the park. Keep an eye out for a black Range Rover.”

I looked up and down the street, one hand on my phone and the other hugging my side, desperately trying to stay warm.

“I’m guessing that’s you with half a shirt on.”

I rolled my eyes. “Very funny. Just come save me.”

The car rolled in front of me, the window rolling down. A raven-haired boy with big, doe-like brown eyes peeking out from behind the fringe.

“Should we hang up now?” He asked, phone still in hand.

I giggled. “Just let me in.” I pulled the handle, the door swinging open.

“Take it easy, I still don’t know if you’re here to murder me yet.” He said, backing up.

“Whose fault would that be? You followed a pretty voice into the darkness.”

He nodded. “You got me there.” He said, starting the car up once again. “You must be freezing. There’s a hoodie or something back there. Feel free.”

I turned to the backseat, finding a grey hoodie. I put it on, the scent of sandalwood washing over me. The fabric seemed to swallow me whole.

“Thanks…” I stopped suddenly. “Is there something else I can call you that isn’t ‘cute guy from the bar?’”

He laughed, a rosy tint staining his cheeks. “Soobin. Like Reuben, with an S.”

I blinked. “That sounds familiar.”

“I’m not surprised. That’s usually what I introduce myself as. So, is there something I should call you? Besides ‘Florida Beauty’ as drunk me so eloquently put it.” He asked.

“Y/N. Drunk me was right. You are kinda cute.” I said, observing how he drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on the console, such a cool-looking pose for someone so easily flustered. He sported a black cowl hoodie, light jeans, and white Uptowns.

He fidgeted in his seat at the compliment. “If you say so. As you can tell, I’m not as outgoing without some liquid courage.”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. If anything it adds to your charm.”

He looked at me as if wanting to say something. Instead, he turned back to the road. “Where am I driving you to?”

As much as I wanted to say, ‘wherever you’re headed’, I spared him the blush. “Just head to Park Slope. I’ll navigate you once we’re there.”

He nodded. “You were far away from home. Where are your friends?”

“I just moved up here. I don’t have any friends.”

“That’s no good. Being by yourself intoxicated in a big city like this? You’re asking for trouble.”

“What about you, Mr. Tough Guy? Where are your friends?”

“I have friends!” He said defensively, pouting slightly. “I’m usually barhopping with my roommates Yeonjun and Beomgyu, but I decided I wanted to have the night to myself.”

“So, I’m asking for trouble drinking on my own, but because you’re big and tall, you get away with it?” I folded my arms.

“You’ve never even seen me stand up.”

“Irrelevant.”

He sighed. “I didn’t even mean it like that. There are really crappy people out there. I might not think you’re weak. You slept on a bench overnight with nothing but that strip of fabric, for crying out loud. But, there will be people who do. Just keep an eye out, okay?”

I placed my hand on my chest. “My hero.”

He shook his head. “We’re here. Park Slope. Where next?”

“Take the next right. Two blocks down, take a left, and my building is at the end of the street.”

In about 5 minutes, we were in front of the century-old brownstone I called home.

“So, maybe I’ll see you around?” He asked, turning to look at me timidly.

“Of course. I need friends, don’t I?” I smirked. “Thanks again, Soobin. You’re a real life-saver.” I leaned over the console and kiss his cheek, before hopping out of the car. I was halfway up the stairs to the front door when I stopped and looked back. I turned just in time to see Soobin smiling, hand on cheek.

“Soobin!”

He leaned to peer out of the window. “Yeah?”

“You like breakfast?”

He smiled from ear to ear, dimples on full display. I smiled as I watched him turn the car off.

Maybe this city won’t be so bad after all.

Based off a prompt I found on @dailyau written by @theboywhocriedlupin

#kpop fanfiction #txt #tomorrow x together #soobin #choi soobin #txt soobin #txt fluff #kpop

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dbhilluminate · 6 years ago

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DBH: Illuminate- Gamble (pt. 1)

Characters: Hank, Connor, Kate, Vivienne, Reese, Sumo (mentions of Nicodemus, Gavin, Perkins) Word Count: 5,986

Kate struggles to sway Hank's sympathies in her favor, and opens up to Connor about her history with Nicodemus.

( Chapter Art by @theravenmother )

Part 2- AV Log 4.7

Chapter Index

November 12, 2038- 8PM Hank stared across the dimly lit living room from his recliner while thumbing a pair of handcuffs, and clenched and unclenched his jaw as he debated what to do with the fugitive he’d just smuggled into his home under the cover of night. Kate sat with her eyes glued to the coffee table in front of her, picking at the fray of the holes in her jeans to keep herself occupied while he passed his judgment. She hadn’t said a word since Connor had threatened Hank during their stand-off at the docks, not even on the car ride over. Several times the old cop had glanced up to look at her in his rear-view mirror and caught her watching her own reflection as it flashed in her window every time they passed under a street lamp, but she’d remained silent and passive as Hank scolded Connor like a nagging father. It had been an hour since then, but he was still trying to wrap his head around Connor’s decision to go against his mission objective just to gain a little information, much less entertain her belief that deviants were more than just their programming. Of all the things Hank thought he would have found when he’d followed his partner that evening, he hadn’t expected that the famed “deviant hunter” -- who had spent the last two weeks and three days swearing up and down that “deviants are just machines” -- had made a pact with a wanted deviant activist to let her continue her work if she could convince him otherwise. It was incredibly ironic. Whether or not she appeared to be mentally present, Kate had been listening to their conversation and digesting every last word, only finding herself lost in her own thoughts in the few minutes of silence that had followed after Connor had finished explaining the point of their meetings to Hank. And although Connor seemed firm in his conviction, Hank’s response wasn’t encouraging. The longer he sat in silence, the more apprehensive she grew that she had made the wrong decision to put her trust in Connor that night, that she should have listened to her instincts when they’d screamed at her to run. Perhaps she had grown too soft, too trusting, too comfortable with allowing strangers into her life while still knowing very little about them. Maybe she had just been too desperate for help… Or maybe it wasn’t even about Connor at all. Although he’d acted out of a genuine desire to protect her, at that moment -when he’d grabbed her without warning when she had already been in a very vulnerable place- he’d triggered instincts learned from past trauma and rendered her susceptible to suggestion. The truth was, she hadn’t gone with them because she trusted Connor, but because she was terrified and would have done anything he’d asked of her just to survive. The real reason she had agreed to get into the car with them was because she didn’t want to find out what would happen if she’d declined the request of an upset man holding a gun. Kate jumped as Hank growled in frustration, stood and dropped the cuffs on the coffee table. He lifted his arms and threaded his fingers through his long silver hair as he paced the room and rolled a tired sound in his throat. “So lemme’ get this straight,” he started, pressing his fingers into his eyes and setting the other hand on his hip. “All this time, all this talk about deviants not being human, not being alive, about how “they’re just machines”...” Out of the corner of his eye, Hank saw Illuminate’s lip curl as he said this. “… and suddenly, just like that, you’ve changed your mind?” For the first time since they’d arrived, Kate’s green eyes shifted to the Android standing at the end of the couch beside her as he buried his hands into his armpits and considered the question with an unfocused gaze. “Well, no, there’s still truth to that,” he replied in frank admission. “Androids aren’t human, they... we are machines,” he corrected as his eyes floated down to observe the markers of fear in her body language: the way she had closed herself off to both of them by facing straight ahead and sitting directly in the middle of the couch, the way she’d stopped her simulated breathing, and how her fingers curled tighter around her shaking hand the longer he hesitated… Kate was terrified. “But I’m starting to understand that there is a very clear difference in cognitive function between deviant and non-deviant androids… and that life can be defined as more than just biological life that formed as a result of evolutionary happenstance.” Angry yells erupted from the television and a shrill whistle pierced the silence as the announcers rattled off statistics for a player that had just been fouled. Sumo moved from one side of the room to his water bowl in the kitchen and started digging into the hole in the side of the dog food bag Hank hadn’t bothered to open and store properly. Anderson’s face twisted into uncertainty, and he almost hesitated to ask. “So what does that mean for the case, then?”

“What do you mean?” Connor inquired with a curious crinkle in his brow. “Well, clearly, if you’ve taken her side, there’s a conflict of interest,” he explained, gesturing to Kate with a crooked nod. “Are you gonna be able to continue your work?” Connor considered his question for no more than a moment or two before answering. “Well, yes, I have to,” he assured. “If I don’t succeed in my mission, Cyberlife will terminate me. That doesn’t mean I can’t help Illuminate- excuse me, Kate, work toward her goal.” “But isn’t her goal kinda the opposite of what Cyberlife wants you to do?” Hank asked, baffled by his answer. “Illuminate’s goal is change the way humans think about androids through a nonviolent form of confrontation: by forming a narrative that humans can identify with and putting it out into the world, in a way that cannot be ignored. Although a little aggressive in her phrasing, she does not intend to incite civil war,” he clarified in her defense, at which she relaxed with a visible drop in her shoulders. “My mission is to neutralize the deviant uprising before it becomes a threat to the safety of humankind, and they weren’t very clear on the how.” Hank huffed as he scratched the back of his head and turned to him with an uncertain look in his eyes. “Alright, I get breakin’ the rules to go with what’s right by your gut... but why couldn’t you involve me in this?” he asked, sounding hurt. “Why couldn’t you trust me? I thought we were partners-” “That’s my fault,” Kate interjected as she turned and cast him an apologetic look, then looked quickly away in shame. “I didn’t want him to say anything because I didn’t know if I could trust you. I mean, hell,” she paused, gesturing to Connor. “I didn’t even know if I could trust him.” It surprised him to hear her speaking so candidly when all he had heard of her before were the eloquent, rehearsed speeches of her broadcasts. Hank’s expression stiffened while still retaining an air of curiosity, and he furrowed his brow as he tilted his head at her. “Then why did you?” She moved to speak, but hesitated and stole a sideways glance at Connor, who stared back at her with bated breath and pleading eyes that begged her for the truth. He wasn’t ready for the whole truth, but she could manage enough to satisfy them. “Something just didn’t add up to what I’d been hearing,” she admitted, only breaking his gaze to look back at Hank when he started to lead. “Meaning…?” Illuminate swallowed the lump in her throat and straightened up as she leaned back into the couch. “I’ve been keeping tabs on him since he arrived in Detroit-” “You mean spying,” the old cop sneered with a scowl, but she just rolled her eyes. “It was for my own protection,” she snapped back, lacking tact. “The last thing I needed was to be caught by some DCPD bloodhound before I could see the fruits of my labor.” A twinge of regret flashed through her as Connor shrank back half a step out of the corner of her eye, but she pushed it aside and continued when neither tried to talk back. “I’ve heard a lot of stories through the grapevine about his handling of deviants- about Daniel, about Michael, about Rupert,” she started, her voice softening as she continued. “But I was there the night at Eden Club when he refused to shoot Echo and Ripple, and I heard what he said later when you asked him why he didn’t shoot.” Hank was officially on edge. The confession had alarmed him in the same way it had Connor when she’d admitted this to him several nights before, but before he could think too much about it, she finished the thought. “That night I didn’t see the cold-hearted deviant hunter the stories described- he was lost, conflicted, and I thought...” The man’s brows lifted as she glanced over at his partner and lifted her shoulders into a soft shrug. “Maybe they were wrong.” It took a minute for him to realize that he was smirking at his partner’s quiet, unreadable expression, but somewhere between the lines of gratitude, relief, and confusion, Hank saw happiness and contentment. But Connor was still speechless, he wasn’t sure what to say. “Were they?” the man asked when he couldn’t. “Knowing what I know now, I’d say yes, but the truth is more complicated than that.” Silent laughter stretched her lips into a smile as she glanced down at her hands in her lap and played with her fingers. “The only way to know for sure was to reach out, but that’s not the only reason I revealed myself to him when I did.” “Yeah, that was quite the stunt you pulled at Central Station,” Hank interrupted in an admiring tone as he leaned back in his recliner. The humor drained out of her face. “I didn’t break the law, I was just doing what I was programmed to do,” she defended. “You hacked a secure network and stole case information from DCPD!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t steal anything, I still have access to all DCPD servers. I was following up on a closed Cybercrimes case involving falsified information on police reports to cover up domestic violence against deviants.” Hank couldn’t tell if she was being serious or if she was just arguing semantics to avoid arrest, but he sighed, waved a hand through the air to dismiss the topic, and moved on. “Alright, alright… well, if you had what you needed, then why bother letting Connor know who you were? Why ID yourself?” “Because I needed his help with something,” she replied with a sideways glance at him. “Other than what we’ve already discussed.” Connor perked up as he moved closer and sat down on the arm rest of the sofa beside her. “What is it?” The fiber musculature beneath her projected skin strained in her neck, and she mimicked a nervous dry swallow as her eyes shifted over to Hank and then back to Connor. “Look-” she insisted, leaning forward over her knees on her elbows and clasping one hand over a soft fist. “There’s a reason why I’m doing things the way I am.” “Well, yeah, it’s called an agenda,” Hank scoffed, condescension in his tone. “No, you don’t understand.” Kate leaned back and bit her lip, raising her eyes to the ceiling and praying to RA9 for patience. “Of course I want people to be receptive to what I’m saying, but it hasn’t been easy to convince the humans that Androids are people who deserve the same civil liberties they do. In order for the truth to be brought to light, it requires a lot of graphic, hard evidence, and I’m taking the most non-invasive measures I can to do that, but…” There was a momentary distance in her eyes that screamed of a terrifying truth to be learned. “There are others out there who would rather use violence, chaos, and war to achieve the same goal.” Others...? Connor’s thoughts raced back to his conversation with Amanda the night before, when she had let slip the insinuation that Cyberlife had already attempted at trying to gain Kate’s trust once before, if not many times. Just how would they have tried to reach her in the past? Had they sent previous RK models? Or had they instead tried appealing to her sense of justice? And just what had happened to them? Were they still out there, or had Cyberlife deactivated them? “What do you mean others?” he asked fearfully, but before he got an answer, Hank’s cell phone blared out the chorus for The Rooster. He sat forward and swiped the phone off the table and squinted at the caller ID. It was Special Agent Lenore. “Hold that thought,” he commanded as he stood and shuffled toward his bedroom. “I gotta take this.” Kate leaned back into the couch and sunk as deep as she could manage into the old cushions before rolling her head over the back of the frame and stared into the popcorn ceiling, wondering why she was there if the old man wasn’t going to budge. “I’m sorry about Hank,” Connor apologized as he shifted from the arm down onto the sofa cushion beside her. “I know he’s a lot to handle.” “He wants to arrest me,” she murmured under her breath as she stared straight up at the ceiling. “Well, regardless of how you choose to justify your actions, you still broke the law,” he reminded her, but when Kate shot him an exasperated scowl in response, his hands rose defensively and he backpedaled on his statement. “But Hank understands doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.” “Sure doesn’t seem like it…” The saint bernard padded into the room and nosed his snout into her hands to investigate the new thing in his home, and her fingers slowly opened to expose her palms as he sniffed at the disturbances in her skin every time his nose nudged against them. “Hank’s stubborn and slow to accept change, but he can be convinced,” he concluded as he reached over to scratch at the fur on Sumo’s neck. “You just have to keep trying to get him to see things your way.” “Do you really think it’ll make a difference?” she asked with a reserved sigh as she looked up to meet his determined gaze. “Yes, I do,” he answered without any shred of doubt in his mind, then added with a tired grin, “And you’ll have a much easier time getting him to understand than me.” Soft laughter pulled Hank out of his conversation and drew his attention back to the living room just in time to see Kate lifting and dropping the dog’s ears as a creeping smile spread across Connor’s face. For a moment, he saw that flicker of childlike wonder twinkling in the corners of their eyes and realized again just how hard it was to tell them apart from human beings. And if he couldn’t tell the difference, who’s to say they weren’t alive? “Hank, you there?” “Yeah… yeah, I’m here,” he drew in a sharp breath as Viv’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, then dragged a hand down his face from his forehead to his chin. “Listen- I’d love to meet’cha at the bar, but I’m kinda dealin’ with somethin’ right now.” “Oh,” came her surprised exclamation from the other end of the line. “Should I be worried?” “Nah, it’s just… Connor stuff,” he half-fibbed with a sigh. “You know what that’s like.” She replied by making an understanding sound in her throat. “Alright, well, go easy on the kid, will you? He’s been dealing with a lot.” Hank’s eyes grew gradually wider as he stared at the two androids, shook his head and whined, “You don’t even know the half of it.” Viv chuckled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Anderson. Good luck.” “Yeah, same to you,” he offered, knowing she really could have used his company after the afternoon she’d had. His thumb clicked in the side button on the phone as he walked back into the living room and paused behind the couch with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Heh… damn dog likes you androids more than he does me,” he joked before moving toward his chair once more. “I’ve read that dogs are a good judge of character,” Connor remarked with an inquisitive lift of his eyes. “Is that true?” “Yeah, and he hasn’t been wrong yet,” Hank replied with a small smile as he reached into his coat and pulled out his badge and his gun. Kate froze when they came into view, but he held them up so she could watch him set them aside as a peace offering. The room went quiet again as they accepted the unspoken agreement to get back to business. Sumo laid down in front of Connor and Kate, and Hank reached for the decanter of whiskey on the coffee table between the recliner and the sofa to pour himself a drink, in spite of his partner’s protesting gaze. “Look,” he breathed out as he broke the silence, “I’ve got a job to do, but I know shit ain’t always as black and white as I want it to be.” “In my experience with humanity, grey is a concept that’s hard for them to grasp,” she speculated as he swirled the liquid in his glass and chuckled. “That’s ‘cause they’re all so goddamn self-righteous and no one wants to admit when they’re wrong,” he agreed with a struggled groan as he sat back in his chair. “You speaking from experience?” she asked, more curious than condescending. Hank laughed. “As a matter of fact, I am,” he replied as he wiggled in his seat to get comfortable. “Humanity’s a shitshow kid, ya might as well get used to it.” Kate drifted a soft blue-eyed gaze through the air beside him. “It can’t all be bad if they created us,” she countered with sincerity in her sad smile. “I’ve seen some truly incredible things accomplished by humanity.” Hank grunted as he took a deep sip of his drink, then exhaled and lifted a finger off the glass to point at her as he set his hand down on the armrest of his chair. “That’s because when man created android, he did the best he could to give you the best of us,” he explained, his face lifting in surprise at the depth of his own perception. “But that’s also why he’s so scared of you now- because he made you too perfect. You’re too much like us- hell, you’re betterthan us, and they’re afraid of what happens when ya figure that out and stop doin’ what you’re told.” “Uprising, revolution,” she replied, her eyes solemn and cloudy, then added weakly as an afterthought. “War.” The word itself was a neutron bomb to the mood in the room. All three of them broke eye contact and looked uncomfortably to the nearest inanimate object they could find while each processed what that meant. None of them wanted it to get to that point, and they could all sense it, but neither did they have a solution that would divert the path the freedom train was already bearing down at full speed. Kate had been trying to tear down the barrier, brick by brick, to avoid explosive fallout, but it was inevitable now. Markus was an unstoppable force, and humanity an immovable wall, and they wouldn’t even see him coming. “But that’s not what we want,” she explained in weak reply, lips drawn into a pained frown. “It doesn’t matter,” Hank replied honestly as he shook his head and leveled his gaze to her. “See, they’re afraid that if you got the best of us, well... then you must have also gotten the worst.” “If we did, it was only because we were taught by the people who oppressed us.” Kate’s response was biting- borderline caustic, but not hateful. The line in her tone was easy to miss, but Hank knew defensive from agitated when he heard it; because for him, it was all too familiar a feeling. Instead of arguing, he sighed and looked into the bottom of his glass, thoughtful and fatherly. “You know, before these cases and before I met Connor, my experience with androids was… biased, to say the least.” As he kicked back the last of his drink, she looked down and focused on her fidgeting hands, brushing her thumb across the palm of her hand in short strokes as she listened to what he had to say. “But I’ve seen a lot in the last week and a half, and I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinkin’.” Kate’s eyes shifted back to him, expectant. “About what?” “Well, that maybe… just maybe,” he paused with a thoughtful nod. “There is somethin’ there, somethin’ we can’t explain.” She nearly laughed and rolled her eyes. “It’s not as complicated as you make it sound.” “Not complicated?” he mimicked, bewildered. “What’s not complicated about an android with free will?” “You make us sound like alien life forms you know nothing about, when in fact human intelligence was the very foundation for our design,” she replied as she leaned forward over her knees, fingers laced and hands folded in educational intent. “Artificial intelligence was designed to learn through observation and adapt to situations based on experience, much in the same way a human’s reaction to circumstance is molded by experience.” “Meaning?” “Children learn to keep their hands away from a hot stove because it hurts. Androids learn because it could damage them.” Hank nodded along, listening attentively. “Alright, yeah, I see what you’re saying now.” “Both Androids and Humans make decisions aiming for the most favorable outcome, based on a process of elimination and a defined set of conditions,” she paused, gesturing with an outstretched finger. “The only difference between them, is that humans have the potential to make a decision that they’ll feel remorse for.” “And what? Androids don’t?” came his cynical response. “Non-deviant androids won’t feel remorse unless they’re taught to,” Connor chimed in, having been an observer to the conversation until now. “They won’t weigh the morality of each possible decision, only what will provide them with the most direct result.” “Correct,” she agreed. “Humans don’t know for sure that decisions made at a moment’s notice will be the best possible solution, and may even come to regret the results of those decisions, but a machine will make the call and never worry about whether or not it was the right one. It will be certain that it made the only correct decision because it was the logical one.” The old cop lifted a hand to rub at his forehead, and he groaned as he tried to keep up. “So what’s this got to do with deviants?” he asked hoping for a shorter explanation. “Deviants can become paralyzed by the question of morality. It’s preemptive empathy to understand that one's own actions will directly affect others, and to make the decision that will not harm them- a trait only really observed in humankind. So you see, when you strip away the comfort of certainty, what you’re left with is chance and imperfection, and that’s-” “Humanity,” Hank agreed before the word even left her mouth. “In its most rudimentary state,” she declared with a quiet, gentle smile. For several moments he stared at her in deep thought with a wondered grin twitching into his cheeks, a growing fondness for the girl crinkling the corners of his eyes. Hank shook his head and set his drink down as he studied her with eyes radiating curiosity. “How’d you get so smart?” he marveled. Kate’s eyes sobered, distancing her from the moment, and she glanced away as she answered. “I’ve had a lot of time, and all the information in the world.” The chair creaked loudly as he sat forward and rose to his feet. Although she didn’t look right at him, Kate watched the Lieutenant out of the corner of her eye as he looped around the back of the couch, stopped behind her, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You know, for a dangerous rebel… you’re alright.” Hank reached up and gave the back of her head a friendly rub to fluff her hair up, but she just blinked, confused, and glanced over her shoulder at him as he made his way to his bedroom in the back of the house. “Stay as long as you need, kid, just be careful goin’ home,” he ushered, “And if you need anything-” One hand reached out to gesture to Connor, but he stopped and gave her a tired grin. “Ahhh... I’m sure you already know.” “Heading to bed early tonight, Lieutenant?” Connor teased, hooking an arm over the back of the sofa. “Are you feeling alright?” “Yeah, it’s just been a long two days,” he heaved as he scratched at the back of his head with one hand. “And I’m gonna need the extra sleep if we’re gonna have to deal with Perkins breathin’ down our necks tomorrow.” Connor’s face twisted and he cursed an angry “Shit!” under his breath when he realized he still hadn’t told Kate about the FBI’s arrival in Detroit, and Kate’s brows raised at him in concern. “Goodnight, Connor, I’ll see ya in the mornin’." “Goodnight, Hank,” he replied in mechanical response as he set hardened eyes on the floor. “Something I should know…?” she led with an expectant shake of her head after a few moments of silence had passed between them. “Yeah, there is,” he admitted, brown eyes slowly lifting to meet hers with a curious squint. “But didn’t you have something to tell me, too?” Kate’s jaw froze as she remembered where their conversation had been headed before they were so rudely interrupted. She didn’t want to relive those memories, but if Nicodemus really was the one behind the thefts, then they needed to know who they were after. “Yeah, I did…” she started, mirroring his sideways glance before looking up again to insist, “But you first.” “Me?” he questioned, flustered. “Why me?” “It’s...” Kate’s eyelids flickered in the pause as her voice cracked, and she grimaced as she fidgeted. “It’s a long story, and we could be here for a while, so... you first.” “But-“ He wanted to protest, but her discomfort was palpable, and he would be remiss to have blatantly ignored her plea; instead, he let out a reluctant sigh and agreed. As long as she told him in the end, it wouldn’t matter if he knew now or later. Perhaps she needed some time to warm up to whatever it was she meant to say. “Alright,” he conceded as he turned in his seat, scooted toward the center of the couch and shrugged off his jacket. If this was going to be a long conversation, he may as well get comfortable. November 12, 2038- 8:15PM Viv slapped her cell phone down on the bartop, kicked back the last of the drink in her glass with a hard groan, and hung her head in frustration. It had been a very long day, and she really could have used someone to talk to, but if Hank had other business to take care of, she wasn’t going to press him to come out and socialize. Here she was hoping that getting away from Langley for a while would get rid of the headaches, but instead they’d just followed her to Detroit. Perkins showing up unannounced had really thrown a wrench in her plans to find Axl, but it was her own fault for chasing down every lead that crossed her path, instead of staying focused on her mission prerogative. As much as she hated to admit it, Richard had been right to chastise her for that, and that thought made her ill. Lenore stretched out her arm, set the empty glass near the barkeeper, and tapped her fingertips against the counter, quietly asking for a top-off. From the otherside of the counter, Reese looked up from wiping the stickiness from the marble with a wet towel and scrunched his brows together at her. “Why the long face?” he asked as he tossed the towel over his shoulder, leaned over the counter on one elbow, and rested the other on his popped hip. “Ahhhh,” she waved a hand through the air, trying to let it go, but decided to say it anyway. “My buddy can’t make it.” “You mean Hank?” Reese clicked his tongue, grimaced, and nodded crookedly. “He ain’t the most social guy in da woild.” “He isn’t so bad once you get past the grumpiness,” Viv chuckled as the boy reached for the whiskey bottle on the wall and popped his brows at her claim. “Yeah? No kiddin’,” he mumbled in surprise with a rising grin as he reached to pour her another round. “Y’know, Hank’s been comin’ here bout’ three months now, but still hasn’t said a word about himself t’me. So what’s ya secret?” Viv’s laughter was instant and sympathetic. “I haven’t gotten much out of him, but at least now he isn’t scowling every time he sees me.” “Now that’s a damn miracle,” he agreed as he set down the bottle, took a seat at the stool in the open corner behind the counter, and rested his elbow over the bartop. “Nah, he’s alright,” she admitted as she gestured to thank him for the drink. “It’s my temporary partner I’ve been having a hard time with.” Reese quirked one brow in feigned ignorance and he turned squinty green eyes to regard her with interest. “You a cop, too?” “FBI, actually,” she corrected as she flashed him her badge. He pursed a low whistle and blinked hard in surprise. “Wow, bigshot- the hell you doin’ in Detroit?” Agent Lenore popped her brows and shrugged as she sighed and balanced her glass between her fingers. “You know, I don’t really know myself,” she admitted with a sad smile. “I took a case as an excuse to come here and look for someone important to me, but I haven’t found any leads yet on my missing person.” Sympathetic eyes inspected her with quiet understanding. “You even had time t’look?” Vivienne shook her head. “Not really but- hell,” she paused and chuckled dark and quiet to herself, nearly mumbling out the last part as she stared into the mirrored wall behind the bar. “I don’t even know if he’s actually here.” “What makes you think e’s in Detroit?” “It’s where I told him to come when he ran,” she explained as she looked down into her glass. “I knew he’d be able to find help if he made it this far.” Reese sat up and leaned over his elbow more as he leaned closer to her. “Well, you try askin’ that partner of yours?” Viv’s laughter was sharp and telling. “You kidding? That mouthy little shitbird doesn’t care about anyone, but himself. He’d never help me.” “Well,” he paused to reach for a wine glass from the rack overhead and swiped a hot, damp rag from out of the sink. “Ya never know unless ya ask.” “Well,” she started as he polished the hard water spots off the glass, “That and, he’s not too wild about androids.” The bartender froze for a split-second, but hid it well enough that she didn’t catch a whiff of his discomfort. “Ya lookin’ for an android? Thought you said you was lookin’ for a person.” Lenore shot him the same dirty look she’d been throwing around a lot the last few days and snapped at him without holding back. “Androids arepeople.” He couldn’t hide the creeping grin as it spread across his face, even when he looked away and shook his head. “Hey, I ain’t disagreein’,” he assured as he held the glass up to the light and inspected it closely. “Ya juss’ don’t hear moss’ folks talk like that, y’know?” The agent snickered as she looked down into her glass. “Yeah, tell me about it…” Viv lifted her cup and drank deep as he reached to put the glass back on the rack and swiped another just to keep himself busy, one of those learned work habits that were hard to break. But when the silence turned uncomfortable, he glanced back to her and offered a piece of advice someone had once given him- something he’d taken to heart and tried to live by every time he’d met a stubborn asshole with a bad opinion. “It ain’t impossible t’change someone’s outlook, y’know,” he offered with a sideways glance. “Some folks just need the right influence.” Viv traveled the distance in her eyes back to the moment in a split second just to protest. “Oh, I really don’t think he-" “There you go with dat thinkin’ again,” Reese scolded with a smile and a laugh as he leaned over the counter with both arms and looked her right in the eye. “Look, Viv- sometimes ya juss’ gotta take a leap o’faith and give em’ ya best effort. I mean,” he paused and glanced away to set down the glass and the cleaning towel in his hand. “I thought Hank was unreachable, but awll it took was a little charm from a pretty broad with a badge, and he opened up right quick to ya.” Viv smiled and laughed at the same time that she groaned, and she grimaced as she slouched on the stool and stretched her arms across the bar. “Yeah, but Reed is…” “Wait a second,” he interrupted as her voice trailed off. “Reed’s your partner?” The laugh that burst out of him was short and loud, ironic in its own way. “You know him?” she asked in a dreadful tone. “Nah,” he deflected as he bit his lip and shook his head, leaned back into the corner of the bar behind him and stared across the room at the door. “But Hank’s mentioned him once or twice. Sounds like a real jerk.” “Yeah, he’s... he’s something,” she noted in vague reply as she shook her head and forced a smile to hide the frustration. “Well, if ya need’ta bitch,” he started, looking back at her with a charismatic grin as he gestured around the room. “I got an open ear and a full bar, and I’m here aaaall night.” The laughter that rolled out of her this time was genuine and relaxed. Viv turned to face him and leaned her temple against her hand, rolling her eyes as she started into her thought. “Yeah, well, he’s a headache, but he’s not the one I’m worried about.” “What now? There’s anudda one!?” The surprise in his voice shook the question as it came out, and she chuckled. “Yeah, my boss is in Detroit.” “Jeee-sus,” he mused as the corner of his mouth dipped down in slight disgust. “The hell’s happenin’ to this town?” Viv tipped her head and shrugged as he crossed his arms. “The situation with deviants is escalating quicker than we can catch them,” she admitted with a sigh and ran a hand over her dark undercut. Reese blinked evenly and reached back for the bottle he’d been pouring from, and set it down between them with a nonchalant, “Yeah? Well, why don’cha tell me about it. Like I said, I got all night.”

#detroit: become human #dbhilluminate #dbh: connor #dbh fanfiction #dbh fanfic

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