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blu-joons · 3 years ago

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When You Struggle To Write Your Essay ~ Seventeen Reaction

S.Coups:

You could feel Seungcheol’s presence beside you as you typed away at your computer, glancing across at him, noticing the warm smile that he wore. “I just watched you switch tabs, you’re terrible at playing this game.”

“The essay is stupid,” you stated, slamming your hands on the desk, “Instagram is much better.”

“It’s also an unproductive way to spend your time,” he reminded you, lifting you out of the chair so that you could sit in his lap. “You’ve worked so hard on this essay, don’t let a bump in the road put you off now.”

You sighed back at him, “first of all, Instagram is a very productive way to spend my time and see what everyone else is up to. Secondly, I’ve spent well over an hour on this essay and haven’t got a damn word to show for it.”

“Like I said, you’ve just hit a bump,” Seungcheol tried to assure you, “but you can’t be so hard on yourself about it. Why don’t you take a break for a while, a proper break, at least get away from your computer?”

“Do you really think that’ll make life easier?” You questioned, smiling as he nodded back at you.

His arms tightened around your waist, “let’s do something to distract your mind, whatever you want to do. I’m sure when you come back to your work, you’ll find your flow once again.”

“Although I’ve just spent an hour on social media, I deserve a break, right?”

Jeonghan:

A gasp escaped from you as Jeonghan pulled away just as you leaned forwards to press a kiss against his lips. “I told you, no kiss until you get that section of your essay complete,” he teased, moving back away from you.

“Do you really want to play this game with me?” You sighed, sinking down in your chair.

“I told you how this was going to work, you can’t try and cheat your way out of doing your work by trying to kiss me when I’m not paying attention,” Jeonghan reminded you, taking a seat opposite your desk.

Your eyes stared helplessly back across at him, “why are you doing this to me? I thought it was just going to be a joke, I didn’t think you’d actually stop kissing me. How am I supposed to work without a kiss from you?”

“That’s for you to figure out,” he continued to joke, “I know that you can get this done, you’re just beating yourself up about it right now. The section is nearly complete, and then I promise that I am all yours.”

“Are you going to sit there and tease me whilst I write?” You asked, unsurprised to see his head nod.

He settled himself back against the desk chair, “I’m not going to tease, I’m just going to sit here and remind you of the reward that you’ll get once you finally get that part of the essay done.”

“That’s definitely teasing Jeonghan, no way is it a reward.”

Joshua:

The smell of food caught your attention before Joshua even managed to walk into your apartment. “Don’t be getting any ideas,” he warned you, “this is for you only if you’ve finished writing that paragraph, I left you on.”

“It’s all written, I promise, you can come and see for yourself,” you spoke, pointing it out to him.

“See, I told you that you’d be able to do it,” he proudly smiled, relieved to see you’d finally completed the paragraph you’d been stuck on for most of the afternoon. “It’s a good job I went out and got your favourite too.”

Your eyes lit up, silently cursing at yourself for not recognising the smell of the food straight away. “You’re the best, thank you so much. Let me just save what I’ve done and then I’ll be through to join you for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t move too quickly,” Joshua called out to you, “I went out and got dessert too, but you can only have that if you write another paragraph. And don’t even try and argue with me because I know you’re capable.”

“Are you really using food as a weapon to try and bribe me right now?” You asked of him.

With a smug smile, his head nodded back at you, “it’s working, isn’t it? I know the way to your heart, and it’s by nothing else but food, that’s how you’re going to get this essay done.”

“As bad as it is, I definitely think your right on that one.”

Jun:

When Junhui first began to ask you questions about your essay, you failed to understand what the point was, until slowly answers started to come together. “Write that down, you can use it in section three, can’t you?”

“I think so,” you hummed, writing it down anyway, noticing how big your document was getting.

“What else is there that you need to talk about?” He asked, peering over your shoulder to have a look at the essay brief. “It looks like we’ve managed to get quite a few ideas down for you to write there my love.”

Your head shook at how much was written, “I don’t know who taught you such an incredible skill but thank you for helping me to write almost my entire essay. I really have no idea what I’d do without you Jun.”

“It’s all on you, all I did was ask the questions, and you gave me the answers,” he reminded you, sitting back down on the bed behind you. “Do you want me to stick around whilst you write that into something resembling an essay.”

“It’s up to you, but don’t feel like you have to, you’ve done enough for me,” you assured him.

He shrugged back at you, making himself comfortable. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. I could read over it too if you want when it’s done, make sure that it all makes sense?”

“That would be amazing, you really are the best Junhui.”

Hoshi:

Your smile grew as Soonyoung walked over to you, taking a seat at your desk, staring back at you. “I promise I’m not going to do anything; I’m just going to sit here as moral support whilst you carry on with your writing.”

“Do you know how distracting it is just to have your face there?” You laughed, gently pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Well, when you hit a brick wall or you’re struggling to think about what to write next, you can just look over at me and I can be your inspiration to try and figure out what it is that you want to write,” he assured you.

Your head shook back at him, “I don’t want to look back at my laptop now I get to look at you. I need to find a lot of inspiration for now, so I might just have to stare at you for a little while, as long as you don’t mind?”

“If it helps with your work, then there’s no complaints from me,” Soonyoung chuckled, resting his head into his hand. “Just don’t stare too long, because you might get lost in my eyes or something and forget about your work.”

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea,” you teased, moving a little closer towards him.

Soonyoung quickly moved you back, keeping a distance between the two of you. “You’ve got work to do, don’t be getting any ideas. You can have plenty of what you want when your work is done.”

“You’re a horrendous tease, I can’t believe you’d do that to me.”

Wonwoo:

The moment Wonwoo suggested giving you a helping hand with your essay, you knew it was going to do anything but help you out with your essay. “What even is this thing on? Surely even I can understand what it means.”

“It looks at patterns of migration in variations of native African animals,” you informed him, noticing how quickly his expression dropped.

“Alright, well, with a bit of research I’m sure I can contribute something,” he muttered underneath his breath, quickly doubting how effective his plan seemed to initially be. “Do you have a book or something on it?”

Your head shook, tapping the top of your head. “All the information is stored up here for me to remember, but because you said you’d be such a big help, I’m sure you don’t need a book to research anything, right?”

“Okay, so maybe I underestimated just how difficult your essay would be,” he admitted, sighing across at you, “I know it’s difficult, but you’ve just got to stick at it, I won’t have you give up on all of this now.”

“You’re meant to be the smart one between the two of us, and even you’re confused,” you sighed.

Wonwoo’s head shook, pressing a kiss against the top of your own. “You’re definitely the smart one, there’s no way I could ever do the work that your doing, it’s incredible, really.”

“The offer is still there if you want to write it for me.”

Woozi:

He failed to remember the last time he’d seen you move as he came out from his studio and noticed you still sat in front of your laptop. “Y/N?” He called out, only to be met by silence, walking across to you.

“Sorry,” you muttered as his hand waved in front of your face to try and wake you up. “When did you get out of the studio?”

“I don’t think that matters right now, what matters is waking you up a bit, you’re driving yourself crazy with this essay,” he frowned, pulling your chair away from your desk to give you a bit of room to stretch out.

Your head shook, reaching out to pull yourself back, only for Jihoon to get in the way. “I know that you care Jihoon, but I was only daydreaming for five minutes, we’ve both got work to do, so let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“If you think I’m going to let you go back to doing some work in your current state then you are very much mistaken Y/N.” He established continuing to stare down at you, “I can tell you’ve been daydreaming for a lot longer too.”

“Alright, so maybe I was out of it for a while, but that’s time I need to make up for,” you groaned.

Jihoon continued to shake his head back at you, “when I told you I wasn’t moving, I meant it. For once, I’m not messing around, I’m going to make sure that you look after yourself.”

“I’m too tired to even bother arguing anymore with you.”

DK:

As yet another yawn left you, it was the final straw for Seokmin, walking around to your desk and standing in between you and your laptop. “You’ve got two choices, nap with me, or go and have a nap by yourself.”

“Can’t I just decline both of them?” You questioned, trying to peer around his waist so that you could look back at your essay.

“I’m not budging, and these hips are wide,” he smiled, stepping each time you moved. “Y/N, you’re exhausted, and don’t even try to deny it. At least close your eyes for half an hour and then come back to your work.”

Your head tried to shake, but as it did, another yawn escaped, rendering your argument pointless. “I can sleep for days once this essay is submitted Min, but until then, a trip to bed will just have to wait for me.”

“You’re not going to win,” he joked, staring down at you in front of him. “We can either do this the easy way or the hard way, and I’m happy to do either. So, I’ll leave it up to you to decide what you want to do.”

“That depends, what’s the easy way and what’s the hard way?” You challenged back to him.

His head nodded, “I’m guessing you’ve chosen the hard way,” he announced, bending down and wrapping his arms around you before scooping you off of your chair with ease.

“I would’ve still chosen the easy way I’ll have you know.”

Mingyu:

A strong pair of arms wrapped around you, instantly drawing you out of the daydream that you found yourself in, staring at your half-written essay. “You’re coming with me for a while before you drive yourself crazy.”

“Mingyu, I need to get this done,” you huffed, trying to pull his arms away from your waist, but he was far too strong to budge.

“What you need to do, is forget about your essay for a while, and then you can go back to it with a clearer head in a bit,” he assured you, pulling you down on top of him as he fell onto the sofa, keeping a hold of you.

Despite your protests, it didn’t take long before you made yourself comfortable cuddled into his side. “I’ve still got plenty of work to do, no matter how much you want to use a break as an excuse to cuddle me.”

“I mean it was part of the reason, but also because I’m worried about you too. Everyone needs to take breaks, even if you think it’s wrong. You’ll go back to your essay and ace it,” he assured you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“You sound confident for someone that makes it very hard to leave a cuddle,” you joked.

Mingyu’s eyes rolled back at you, “to say you were reluctant to cuddle me, you’ve very quickly changed your tune. I guess cuddling me is never as bad as you think it is.”

“There’s nothing bad ever about cuddling with you.”

The8:

Minghao had watched you shut yourself away for far too long when it came to writing your essay, sensing just how unproductive you were getting. “Talk to me about it,” he announced when you stopped writing again.

“What are you on about?” You questioned, jumping slightly at the sound of his voice. “What are we supposed to talk about?”

“Your essay,” he smiled, placing his phone down beside him so that you had his full attention. “It’s supposed to help talking about things, so why don’t you give me some of your ideas and see what you think about them aloud?”

You stared questionably across at him, “are you really telling me that you want to sit here and listen to me talk to you about a subject you have no idea about? Did you even study psychology at school to know things?”

“I haven’t got a clue, but that might help. Explain it to me, and if it’s simple enough for me to understand, then it’s simple enough to go in your essay too, right?” He suggested, noticing the way in which your eyes lit up.

“Do you know, that might not be such a bad idea, I need the practice right now,” you grinned.

His head nodded, moving himself a little closer towards you, “why don’t you go from the beginning in that case, and make sure to write it down. I’m all ears whenever you’re ready.”

“Alright, I hope you’re prepared to pay close attention to me.”

Seungkwan:

As another sigh echoed out around the room, Seungkwan stood up from his own desk, walking around to you, resting his hands against your shoulders. “How’s it going?” He asked, staring at your empty page.

“Terribly,” you frowned, leaning back to rest against his chest, “do you fancy swapping and writing this for me Kwan?”

“I love you, but not enough to write a three-thousand-word essay,” he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss against the top of your head, “you’ve just got to keep working at it, and eventually it’ll all come together into something beautiful.”

His words were kind, but you were far from convinced. “I’ve stared at this screen for three hours, written one sentence, and then deleted it. It’s like I’m destined to just fail this essay and mess up my grades at the last minute.”

“Well, you won’t get very far with a negative attitude like that,” Seungkwan pointed out to you, “as hard as it is, you’ve just got to remain positive for now and trust in that brain of yours that the work will write itself.”

“My brain feels like it’s never been so useless as it is right now,” you continued to vent.

Seungkwan’s lips pressed against the top of your head, “you’re being too hard on yourself, just relax, and I promise that the work will come to you and you’ll get a great essay written.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without your positivity sometimes.”

Vernon:

Your brows furrowed as soon as you looked around to see your phone no longer on your desk, failing to remember where you’d last put it. “Looking for something?” A voice questioned, as the pieces very quickly came together.

“That’s unfair,” you cried out, unsurprised when you looked around to see Vernon holding onto your phone in his hands.

“You keep getting distracted, but you’re almost at the end, all you’ve got left to write is your conclusion. Let me keep a hold of this,” he propositioned, “and I bet in an hour you can have that essay completed to word count.”

Your eyes rolled, however good of an idea of his it seemed to be. “I was doing just fine with this work before you came over and stole my belongings. I’ve barely even been on my phone that much today you know.”

“Y/N, every time I look up, you’re typing away on your phone,” he chuckled, shaking his head at your protests. “You’ll thank me for doing this in a little while once your essay is complete and you’re not worrying anymore.”

“I’m not just typing, I’m doing research as well,” you tried to protest.

Vernon scoffed back at you, “Twitter is not research, however hard you want to try and convince yourself otherwise. Now, get it written, and then you can scroll through your feeds.”

“You really can be evil sometimes; do you know that?”

Dino:

It was obvious to Chan that you were beginning to struggle with your essay, you’d barely focused on it for quite some time, finding every distraction possible. “I’ve got a suggestion,” he called out as you picked up your phone again.

“What’s that?” You questioned, looking away from your computer to his figure that was sat across the room.

“I’ll order us takeout for dinner, my treat, if you get two hundred words done in the next hour,” Chan proposed, noticing how quickly your eyes lit up at the mention of food. “But only if you get your work done.”

A loud groan came from you, “I just knew that food would come at a price, it always does with you. Can’t we agree on one hundred, do you know how much effort two hundred words is going to take?”

“I do, but I also know how much better you’ll feel once you get it done,” he proudly smirked, knowing that he was right. “Just get your head done, if food isn’t a good enough goal for you to reach, I don’t know what is.”

“You promise that two hundred is all I need for takeout?” You quizzed.

Chan’s head nodded back at you with a laugh, “I promise, as soon as you add two hundred words to that essay, a menu of your choosing will be ordered for dinner, and all paid for by me.”

“Alright, I guess I better get my head down then.”

---

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pitviperofdoom · 3 years ago

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Me: I’ve got some time and motivation on my hands! Maybe I should work on one of my immediate projects, like putting the finishing touches on my RQBB piece, or making some headway on my TMA BB piece, or editing the next chapter of the DND AU...

Me: *writes a 5k opener for an au that’s basically The Owl House*

------

“Again.”

Jon held still and kept his eyes shut. Everything ached, his head most of all; the slightest movement sent lightning bolts of pain through his skull. Even now it throbbed like a quiet threat behind his closed eyes.

“Get up, Jon.”

He couldn’t. He was done. Wasn’t that obvious?

“I don’t have time to indulge you. I know you can do more. Now get up.”

He couldn’t.

“Open your eyes, Jonathan.”

That was a simpler request, at least. He could do that much, couldn’t he? He could open his eyes. It barely counted as moving.

Dutifully, Jon forced his eyelids apart. Punishment was swift; this time the pain was so intense that he couldn’t even scream, only curl up tighter on the floor with a strangled whimper. The polished tiles were cold against his face, but they did little to soothe the ache. Warm liquid trickled from his closed eyes; when had he started crying?

Across the room, Jonah sighed. “Already? We’ve barely scratched the surface, Jon. I expected another hour from you, at minimum.” Footsteps echoed against the floor, and Jon tensed in spite of the pain, but the hands that picked him up were gentle. “Come now. Our work is too important for me to indulge you like this. For Titan’s sake, your endurance was better when you were a mere child.”

Jon kept his eyes shut, and hated the part of himself that wanted to curl up again, apologize, and promise to do better. The ache was beginning to recede, just barely, but he kept his eyes shut. If he opened them too soon, then Jonah would take it as a sign that he wasn’t as tired as he behaved.

“Can you make your own way back?” Jonah asked, steadying him by the shoulders. “Or do you need help?”

Jon’s blood ran cold. That was a dangerous question. If he chose to go under his own power, then Jonah might change his mind about letting him stop. But he didn’t want help. His limbs felt like wet clay, and there wasn’t a single muscle in his body that didn’t hurt, but at least they were still his.

“I—” HIs voice cracked in his dry throat. “I can—I can make my own way. Th-thank you, Jonah.” He held his breath.

After far too long for comfort, Jonah sighed again, heavy with disappointment. “Alright, Jon. Get some rest. We’ll do better in the morning.”

“Yes, Jonah,” Jon replied, faint with relief, and waited.

He was met with silence.

“Have you changed your mind?” Jonah said, after a moment. “If you’d like to continue…”

“No,” Jon replied. “No, I’m—thank you. For letting me stop. Just…” He held his hands out in a blind plea. “It’s my eyes, so I need…”

“Ah, of course, how could it have slipped my mind?” He heard a faint rustle from Jonah’s robe, before warm, smooth wood was pressed into his waiting hands. Jon swallowed another sob of relief. “There you are, then.”

“Thank you,” Jon repeated, and turned toward where he hoped the exit was.

The shape in his hands shifted. Smooth wood became downy softness, before the feeling left his hands and landed gently against his face. Soft wings brushed his cheeks, tiny legs grasped the bridge of his nose, and the world returned to him.

He hadn’t opened his eyes, but he could see the room once more: the library’s main room, a vast space where he and Jonah did most of their work. He could see Jonah as well, watching him with the weary patience of a parent indulging a child’s tantrum.

Jon looked away, muttered his thanks again, and limped out of the room.

Even with a closed door between them, the weight of Jonah’s scrutiny never left. Not helping the matter was the wallpaper that, currently, was openly tracking his progress through the countless eyes hidden in the intricate pattern.

That was the downside to navigating with these eyes; when he used his own, he couldn’t see the Beholding that soaked every nook and cranny of the manor. At least then he could pretend that closed doors and distance meant something.

It was a long way from the research wing to his quarters—their quarters—and Jon had to pause several times for a moment’s rest. By the time he reached the last flight of stairs, he was shaking from exhaustion, and strongly considering the benefits of simply curling up in a corner of the hallway and falling asleep on the floor. Jonah certainly kept the carpets plush enough.

His borrowed vision went hazy for a moment, and soft wings beat gently against his face. Jon braced himself against the wall as another powerful headache washed over him, closed eyes be damned. His face was wet with tears again.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Alright. Just a bit farther.”

The mask of wings left his face in a sudden flurry of beating, leaving him blind again. Jon bit back a cry of alarm and stayed where he was, leaning against the wall. He wouldn’t leave—surely he wouldn’t. He’d be back. Maybe he was just…

Before he could work himself into a proper panic, he heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open. Familiar footsteps came tumbling down the steps.

“Fuck, Jon,” a familiar, wonderfully welcome voice breathed out, and Gerry caught him before he could fall.

Jon made the rest of the journey leaning heavily against him, blind and trusting. He could feel gentle puffs of air against his face, fluttering wings that didn’t quite touch, and smiled gratefully.

Eventually Gerry deposited him in a chair and went to retrieve something—from the potions stand, going by the clatter of glass vials. Less than a minute later, one of them was pressed into his hand.

“Here. Need help drinking?”

Jon shook his head. “I can manage. Thanks.” He downed the potion and was rewarded by a receding headache. His eyelids were so sticky that he had to massage them open, and his vision came back in blurry patches, one piece of the room at a time: A single table and chair by the kitchenette. Two beds shoved together in the far corner. The sparsest alchemy array on the Isles. Gerry's face, watching him with open concern.

"Do you know how much you lost?" Gerry asked.

"What?"

Gerry gestured to his face, and Jon mirrored the motion until he found rough, sticky stains streaked down his face. He was confused until some of it crumbled off at his touch, and he looked down to find flecks of congealed blood clinging to his fingertips. "That's probably not good."

"Yeah, Jon," Gerry sighed, short and forceful with held back anger. "Probably isn't." He moved off to the kitchenette, and returned moments later with a damp towel.

Jon cleaned his face, sighing in relief at the coolness against the lingering ache. He put the now-soiled towel aside, eyes finally clear, and caught the briefest glimpse of amber eye spots on coppery wings before their owner alighted gently on the side of his head.

"Yes, of course," he said, reaching up to stroke one of the moth's large downy wings. His familiar nuzzled his finger in return. "Thank you, Atlas."

"He alright?" Gerry asked grimly, already checking the moth for any sign of damage.

"Jonah had him for the entire session," Jon replied. "No overt threats today, he just… didn't let him go until we were finished. So. Could be worse."

"Could be a lot better," Gerry muttered.

It will be, he carefully didn't say. Soon, it will be.

It wasn't safe to talk like that. Not here. Not yet.

After Gerry coaxed food into him, Jon crawled beneath the covers and curled up as small as he could manage. Patched and mended blankets didn’t offer any more protection than the walls of this place, but huddling in the dark made it easier to pretend that Jonah couldn’t see him here. It was the only way he could make himself sleep, these days.

When he awoke to Gerry’s gentle shaking, Jon found that he hadn’t moved so much as a finger in his sleep.

Without a word, he slipped out from under the blanket. The light in their quarters was dimming as twilight approached. Gerry barely glanced up from the book he was reading at the table as Jon shuffled to the kitchenette and the kettle.

Casting the spell was a simple matter of well-practiced sleight of hand, disguised beneath mundane activities. One spell circle traced idly by Gerry’s finger against the page as he turned it, the other drawn in the air as Jon waved away the steam. They never did it the same way twice, nor with any regularity by day or week or month. If it became a pattern, then Jonah might catch it.

The spell slipped into place smoothly, with none of the clumsy ripples of their earliest attempts, and Jon let out a shaky sigh. They had to assume that Jonah was always watching—but now, if he was, all he would see was Gerry reading at the table, and Jon drinking tea at the kitchenette. It was a routine they had set long ago. It was exactly what Jonah would expect to see.

Titan willing, it would be enough. They couldn’t afford to slip up now.

“It’s almost ready,” Gerry assured him. “Everything’s in place. All we have to do is wait for the moon’s alignment to power it.”

Jon ran his hand absently over his arm, scratching at the pockmark scars that dotted his skin. Some of the ingredients had cost them dearly to procure. They likely wouldn’t get another chance on any of them.

When he looked at Gerry again, his friend was watching him with something indescribably soft in his face. “It’ll work, Jon.”

“And if we’re caught?” Jon blurted. “We can’t hide this ritual behind false visions. He’ll sense it no matter what his eyes tell him.”

“Once it’s cast, it won’t matter,” Gerry said with grim satisfaction. “We’ll have our out. And where it leads, Jonah won’t have any of the power he does here.”

Jon took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides, nails digging deep into his palms.

Gerry’s eyes never left him. “What’s on your mind?”

Swallowing against the thickness in his throat, Jon struggled to find an answer. “Is it—is it wrong that I’m afraid?”

“Jon, no—”

“I didn’t want to be here,” Jon went on. “I never wanted—ever since I came here, I’ve wanted to leave. And now we finally have a chance. Why am I afraid?” Gerry opened his mouth like he was about to reply, but Jon couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. “It’s not like I’m safe here. Today wasn’t even that bad, compared to… it wasn't that bad.” A bitter, ragged laugh tore itself from his throat. "He pushed me until I bled from my eyes, and he was happy to keep pushing, and all I can think is it wasn't that bad. Why am I afraid to leave?" His voice trailed off. Atlas’s wings fluttered against his head, mirroring his agitation.

Instead of answering, Gerry held out his arms. Jon walked into them without hesitation.

“You were a kid.” With his head on Gerry’s shoulder, his hand to his heart, and Gerry’s arms holding him close, Jon felt surrounded by his friend’s voice.

“I was nearly eighteen,” Jon protested. “Hardly a child.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve been here too long not to be scared of what’s out there,” Gerry reminded him. “And it’s not like we’re escaping out the front door. We don’t really know what we’ll find on the other side.”

Jon’s hand curled into a fist against Gerry’s chest, and his other arm tightened around him. If they did this right, then their exit strategy would dump them into an entirely new world, of which Jon had only ever read old books or heard second and third-hand stories. A fresh wave of apprehension seized him.

Not for the first time, he let himself be desperately, pathetically grateful that he wasn’t doing this alone.

“Can you keep it together?” Gerry asked, still quietly gentle. “I just—I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But I can’t do this alone. This is a two-person job at least, and—”

“Of course.” Reluctantly, Jon pulled back to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to give up at the last moment. You can rely on me.”

Gerry smiled. That was a rare thing, these days. All the more reason not to lose his nerve. Once they got out, Jon was going to spend the rest of their lives giving Gerry every reason to keep doing it.

“I know,” Gerry replied. “Now come on. Let’s finish prepping before we run out of twilight.”

***

“You know,” Gerry whispered late at night, as Jon settled himself into the curve of his body. “By the time I left home, I’d passed up five chances to escape.”

Jon listened in silence. He was never quite sure what to say when Gerry talked about how he grew up. Nothing felt like the right thing to say. Luckily, Gerry never seemed to expect him to say anything at all.

“Those are just the ones I was looking out for, at the time,” Gerry went on. “Couldn’t tell you how many I just didn’t see.”

“You were a kid,” Jon murmured back.

Gerry scoffed into Jon’s hair, and Jon smiled. “Don’t you turn my words back on me. How dare you.” A moment later, “But… you’re not wrong. I was a kid. She was all I knew. I didn’t know who I was without her.”

Safely out of Gerry’s line of vision, Jon allowed himself a thoughtful frown. It was different for him, wasn’t it? Gerry had been born his mother’s son, but Jon had been someone before he was Jonah’s… whatever he was. Student, research assistant, test subject, prisoner.

Before, he’d been the son of parents he barely remembered. He’d been the grandson of a woman who did her best until he drove her to give up on him, and a coven leader came to her with a kind smile and a promise to take away her burden. And now…

And now he wasn’t any of that. Because there wasn’t anything for him to go back to. The only way out was forward, into the unknown.

“I figured it out in the end,” Gerry told him. “You will too. I know you will.”

“I might need help with that,” Jon admitted. “I could use your expertise.”

A soft huff of laughter jostled him. “I’m gonna be in the same boat as you, you know? I’ve never been to the human world.”

“You still know more about it than me,” Jon pointed out.

Gerry was quiet for a moment. “He didn’t tell you anything?” he asked eventually. “It didn’t take much to get him talking, when I was running around with him.”

“Only a few things. His family, his brother, some of his favorite foods. It was all we had time for before we parted ways.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Gerry sighed. “The human world sounds amazing—if even half the things he told me about were even real.”

Jon laughed softly. “I know what you mean. Can you imagine someone actually swimming in the ocean? It would strip the flesh clean off your bones.”

“Not if the water’s cold and non-corrosive. Which it apparently is. People swim in the ocean all the time. It’s a thing. They take their kids and everything.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Jon stifled a yawn.

“It was weird, you know?” Gerry went on. “The things he’d talk about like they were nothing. Sometimes he’d say just the wildest thing, and he’d look at me like I was crazy when I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm… trying to think of one I haven’t told you before…” Gerry hesitated. “Did I tell you about how mornings in the human realm just… make water?”

“You mentioned something about the rainwater being cold,” Jon replied.

“No no, this is different. Titan, how did he explain it…” Gerry hummed thoughtfully. “Something about how, when it’s cold enough, everything’s covered in little droplets of water in the morning. The air just… does that. Makes water out of nothing.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“Can’t remember,” Gerry admitted. “He showed me a picture, though. Water droplets on a spiderweb. Looked like tiny little diamonds. Dunno what kind of face I was making, but he laughed at me.”

“Rude,” Jon murmured.

“Still not sure I believe it.”

“Maybe we’ll see it for ourselves. One day.” One day very, very soon.

Gerry’s only reply was to run gentle fingers through Jon’s hair, again and again, until Jon finally fell asleep.

***

The moon sat at its apex, round and bright and wreathed in blue fire that seemed to dim the stars around it. It was the first thing Jon saw when Gerry gently shook him awake.

He stirred, wincing when his movements jarred his injuries. Most of the day had been devoted to Jonah’s experiments, and Jon had fresh wounds to prove it. The burns on his face would heal without scarring, but his right hand was still wrapped in liniment-soaked bandages. Jon avoided putting any weight on it as he rose to a sitting position and pushed back the blanket. The sight of the moon, burning brightly in celestial alignment, chased away any lingering weariness.

They cast their usual cloaking spell with less caution than usual. It was only a stopgap measure at best, a few minutes’ safety to get everything in place. The table, chair, and alchemy set were pushed aside to clear the floor. With steadier hands—Jonah had been focused on Jon today, leaving Gerry a day of respite—Gerry borrowed Jon’s staff to draw the circle. Atlas alighted on his place at the top of the staff, colors fading as he shifted back into wood, and the symbols glowed brighter. Jon fetched each component from their hiding places around the room, and began laying them out amid the lines that Gerry was tracing.

They worked quickly, not speaking, barely breathing. For all their planning, there had been no time to practice. They would get only one chance, and no more.

And so, there was no time or opportunity to brace themselves before Gerry drew the last line, and Jon poured the last drop of Titan blood, and the circle caught the moonfire blazing through the open window.

The spell ignited, and the sheer force of clashing power nearly knocked them both off their feet. Their flimsy cloaking spell shattered, exposing them to Jonah’s sight, but it was far too late to turn back.

Jon had barely regained his footing when his own magic, coursing through the spell circle alongside Gerry’s, was caught in the moonlight’s amplifying effect. For a single, glorious moment, for the first time in years, Jon felt magic—wild magic, covenless magic—coursing through him. He smelled fire and earth and sea air, felt wind against his face, sensed the distant light of stars above them, tasted blood in the back of his throat as drumbeats pounded in his ears. Every sensation rushed him at once, melding together into a storm of color and music. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever felt.

And then the coven brand on his arm blazed, burning away the storm until only the Beholding remained.

It seized him mercilessly, knowledge clamoring its way into his head all at once. It was a confusing mess, so many sights and sounds and thoughts that he couldn’t have picked out a single one among them. But in the end he adjusted, the stream became more focused, and his mind was his own once more.

At the center of the circle, a seam formed in the fabric of the world. It split neatly down the length of it, opening wide into a ragged doorway.

Jon’s heart leapt. They had been planning this for years, researching in secret, sneaking and lying and stealing to get the components together, and yet—only now did he realize that he had never expected it to actually work. The fact that it had, that freedom lay only a few steps from where he stood, was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Jonah was on his way, he realized absently. It wasn’t just the inevitability of it; even without his focus on the river of knowledge flowing through him, he couldn’t help but catch a few drops. One of them showed their captor flying up the stairs toward their quarters, wild-eyed and intent.

“Gerry,” he said. “We have to—”

Another scrap of knowledge slipped into his mind, like a dagger between his ribs.

“Jon?” Gerry’s voice sounded far away. Everything was suddenly muffled, even the portal. Even the Beholding, swollen with moonlight, felt far away. The whole world was contained in a single, inescapable truth.

“We can’t.” The words slipped from Jon’s mouth. His hand closed on Gerry’s arm. “Gerry, we can’t.”

“Jon, let go, the portal’s right—”

“It won’t work.” Jon squeezed his arm. “It won’t—there’s not enough power. It’s not stable enough for both of us. As soon as one of us goes through, the spell will fall apart and the portal will close. It won’t work.”

Gerry stared back at him, face suffused with dismay.

Dismay, but not surprise.

Jon’s heart sank like a stone in mud. “You knew.”

“Jon, there’s no time for this, now let go—” He was pulling away, prying Jon’s fingers from his arm, and the portal was within his reach, and Jonah was so close to their door.

“You knew,” he repeated. “How long have you known? How long have you been lying?”

“I had no choice!” Gerry shouted over the crackling, ringing din of the spell. “There was no other way! What was I supposed to do, sit here while both of us wasted away? What other chance was either of us going to get?”

The worst part was, Jon couldn’t bring himself to be surprised, or even all that angry, really. Of course this was going to happen. It was simply the culmination of his entire life, thus far. His parents, his old friends, his grandmother—and now Gerry.

Maybe it was just his lot to be left behind.

Across the room, the door rattled. Jonah called to them from the other side. Jon barely heard either.

“I…” His throat grew thick. “I understand.”

“Jon, I’m sorry,” Gerry said desperately. “I wish there was another way.”

“No, I—” He really shouldn’t be crying. This was a happy thing, after all. Gerry was going to be free. “At least—even if it’s just one of us—”

Gerry smiled through his own tears. “I’m really gonna miss you,” he said.

“It’s not fair,” Jon blurted out. “We were supposed to go together. We were supposed to see it together!”

“When has any of this ever been fair?”

Tears gathered in his eyes until Jon blinked them away. His last sight of Gerry should be a clear one. “Please don’t forget me.”

The door rattled again, and Gerry choked back a sob. “Fuck. I could never. You’re not the sort of person anyone just forgets.”

Before Jon could reply, Gerry lunged forward. Not toward the portal, not toward freedom, but to Jon. The kiss was fast and clumsy with desperation, but the hands against the sides of his face were ruthlessly gentle.

“I love you,” Gerry whispered. “Don’t look back.”

Jon blinked back his tears, confusion cutting through the grief. “What?”

Gerry curled Jon’s hands around the staff and threw him into the portal.

He fell through the riot of color and music, too shocked to scream as the image of Gerry shattered into pieces above him. The light winked out, and Jon fell into the emptiness alone.

***

Jon landed hard, though not nearly hard enough for how long he must have been falling.

He lay in darkness and silence, wheezing softly as he regained his breath, gripping his staff until his fingers went numb and his injured hand screamed in protest. The air was cold and smelled stale. The light show from the portal was gone, but he could still feel its power humming beneath his skin, threatening to burst free.

After a while, Jon gathered himself enough to roll over. The floor felt like stone beneath his hands, relatively smooth but unpolished. With a grunt of effort, Jon planted his staff on the ground and pulled himself to his feet. It was too dark to see well when he opened his eyes, so he felt along the length of the staff until he found the shape of wooden moth wings at the end.

“Atlas?” His voice rasped in his chest. The wood turned to soft chitin, and Atlas took off from the head of the staff to flutter in frantic circles around his head, buffeting him gently when he flew too close. “Yes, yes—it’s alright. We’re alright.”

Atlas landed on his shoulder, and Jon’s eyes adjusted.

Was this the human world? For all he knew, the portal might have simply dropped him elsewhere in the demon realm. He was in a room, possibly a basement, judging by the clutter. Boxes sat in stacks and piles, some of them too full to close properly. Indistinct objects sat against the walls—an old mirror, frames wrapped in thick brown paper, a tall wooden clock that didn’t seem to be working. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything, untouched by fingerprints or footsteps.

He was alone.

Of course he was alone, he’d seen the portal break apart as soon as he fell into it, with Gerry still on the other side. Jonah had been seconds from breaking the door down, and now—

A harsh sob took him by surprise, and tears blinded him all over again.

Jonah had never set a clear punishment for escaping. And now, whatever it was, Gerry was facing it alone.

They weren’t supposed to be alone, they were never supposed to be alone. It shouldn’t have been him going through the portal, it should have been Gerry, why couldn’t have been Gerry, why couldn’t Gerry have been selfish for once in his life—

A distant scream rang out, shocking him out of his tears. Jon stared around, wide-eyed and searching, but the room was still. Then the ceiling shook with a crash, drawing his eyes upward.

“It’s above us,” he murmured. “Stairs—we need to find stairs.” Atlas took off from his shoulder, eye spots glowing in the gloom.

With an extra set of eyes, Jon found the stairs within a minute. He ran up them, his brand warming as he loosened the leash on his swollen magic. The door at the top of the steps was locked, but he Knew within seconds where to find a key. Atlas vanished from his side and returned moments later, clutching it in all six of his legs.

The door opened to an unlit hallway. Jon hesitated, took one last look back at the dark and cluttered basement, and hurried on.

He could hear more, now that he was really listening for it. Running footsteps, multiple sets by the sound of it. Shouting, always muffled and bitten-off, as if whoever was doing it was trying very hard not to. There were people in trouble—this was the human world, wasn’t it? Was it as hostile as the demon realm after all?

The hallway ended and took him up another flight of stairs. He expected to see light at some point, either artificial or from the windows. The last time he saw the moon, it had nearly blinded him. But instead, the darkness of the stairwell only seemed to grow thicker as he ascended, and reaching the door at the top did nothing to abate it.

At the very least, what he could see of the room he stepped out into looked more like the ground floor. There were proper floorboards, high ceilings, and windows that only showed faint outlines of trees against a dark, starless sky. The house was unlit, and his eyes refused to adjust. Jon drew a quick spell circle on his forehead with one fingertip, and magic poured into his eyes to light the way.

Shouting rang out again from somewhere above. Jon raced to follow it.

Around him, the house was in the slow process of falling apart. Ornate wallpaper hung faded and peeling, shreds of old rugs showed the ragged remains of color and embroidery, and broken shards of wood protruded from walls and doorways alike, as if any ornamentation set into them had been ripped out long ago. This must have been a fine-looking house once, but now it was a crumbling wreck.

Eventually the hallway opened up to another dilapidated chamber, this one a rotting front hall with its doors still standing ajar. Opposite them, the sagging remains of a grand staircase led up to another floor.

Jon had nearly reached the foot of it when he spotted movement at the top of the steps, and his vision went black.

For a split second he thought he’d lost consciousness, but the floor remained firmly beneath his feet. His breath came in short bursts of alarm as he drew another spell circle for sight in the darkness, to no avail.

Jon settled his grip on the staff, wincing at the pain in his burned hand. The bad news was, nothing that simple was going to let him see through this darkness. The good news was, it meant he knew what he was dealing with. He should have figured it out as soon as he left the basement and saw how dark it was. Stupid.

He could hear the others. Their running footsteps had fallen still, but the sound of panicked breathing was unmistakable. Someone was whimpering in pain with each breath. Someone else was whispering frantic reassurances. The darkness swallowed up everything else.

Jon hardly had to reach for his magic. It was brimming all the way to the surface, swollen from the storm of half-wild magic that had brought him here. When he drew a spell circle in the air with a tight whirl of his staff, it all came boiling up and out like a geyser.

Eyes opened everywhere—in Jon’s face and neck, along the length of his staff, in Atlas’s wooden face and wings, and in the choked air all around him. The darkness burned away as quick and clean as thin paper, revealing the scene before him.

There were three people now at the foot of the stairs, in such a state of panicked disarray that Jon could hardly tell whether they’d run or fallen down them. The larger of the two men had the others pushed behind him, backing away from the creature that menaced them, all three of them too frozen in terror to even attempt to cast a spell.

In spite of the glowing eyes that lit the room, a single wriggling mass of darkness remained, crawling and twitching toward its prey with wispy feelers that reached out to touch them. Sour air wafted from its body, filling the room with the smell of rot.

An acid shade. Nasty, hateful things that hunted prey by blinding it, then dissolving it while it was still alive. One touch was enough to melt the skin off your hand. Gerry still had scars from his last encounter with one.

Gerry.

The eyes blazed, and for the first time the brightness touched the shade’s slick hide. It recoiled, convulsing with a sound that was not a scream, but close enough.

Jon didn’t remember crossing the room, but he stood between the writhing mass of shadows and its would-be victims, so he must have. Fear warred with wild, directionless anger. He missed Gerry and hated Jonah. He remembered the feeling of lips on his, and the sight of his only friend weeping as his image shattered. Jon took all of it, gathered up every last drop, and poured it all into the merciless light of his swollen magic. He gave it all of himself, until it was blinding, until he could See every part of the room he stood in, down to every last crack in the walls, down to every convulsing wisp of darkness that made up the shade.

It let out another not-scream as it was utterly, agonizingly Seen.

And then it was gone, and Jon’s last drop of magic trickled out and left him hollow.

The darkness returned—not a demonic creature this time, but regular unconsciousness creeping up on him. He fought it as he turned and looked back at the faces of the people he’d saved. A round-faced man, so pale that his freckles stood out in his face; a woman with wide eyes and dark hair in disarray; and the second man clutching a corrosive burn that covered his arm, whose face—

—whose face Jon recognized.

“Danny?” Half-blind, Jon struggled to focus as the world grew smaller, and the darkness overtaking it nearly obscured the look of shock on the man’s face. “You found your way home?”

He lost his grip on consciousness before he could hear the answer.

#the magnus archives #tma #jongerry #tma fic #tma isekai au #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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myrulia · 3 years ago

Note

hi ! I was wondering if I could request prompt 23 !! I really like stories like that !! Take all the time you need :D thank you !

.｡.:*✧Prompt 23: "I'll be yours and you'll be mine."

.｡.:*✧Warnings: Suggestive language, modern AU

╰╴⇢｡.:*✧A/N: I had such a fun time with this and explored new themes so thank you for the support!🥺

Busy was an understatement of what your life was as an adult in the city of Tokyo.

You had a well paying job but still life never could give you a proper break to yourself other than sleep.

Until your new co-worker came along.

He was a tall, young and handsome man who was around your age, yet a little younger, that got assigned to work alongside you for a new project given to you by your boss, aka the CEO of the company you work for. Working with said co-worker, you have come to learn that his name was Michikatsu Tsugikuni.

You both were hard workers and produced excellent amounts of positive work loads, which meant you were getting paid more and more due to your new partner. You even put in the effort of getting to know the raven haired male outside of work. You both had gotten coffee with each other a few times, and even went on park "dates" to either talk about your jobs or any other small hobbies you might share.

This developed a bigger bond between the two of you, and before you knew it you found yourself locked in a closet with kisses being trailed down your neck and onto your exposed breasts that were threatening to pop out of your already half unbuttoned shirt. That one breathtaking experience in that accursed closet of your office building changed the way you saw Michikatsu. At first he made it seem like he was simply an innocent man that wanted to work with you, but instead he found you as a whole enticing and sexy in general.

The way your skirt would slightly rise up your thighs as you sat down, your suit jacket buttons struggling to keep your chest locked and unexposed, he just wanted to rip your clothes off of your skin almost every time he saw you. Not only did he find your body damn near angelic, but your face itself stimulated his hard-on with the concentrated expressions you would make as you worked diligently beside him.

This of course led him to have more private time with you in that same very closet that almost nobody even dare bats an eye at in the entire building. The amount of hook-ups you've had were uncountable as the months went by of your dirty little secret still being unknown that you sleep with your obviously younger coworker who was so experienced with sex it made it feel almost unreal each time even though you took charge and guided him where you needed him the most.

Although each time you went home to your skyrise apartment, you found yourself longing for more of his presence even in your bed or wandering around your apartment, not just sex in a closet and occasionally seeing him in the office. You would lay in your bed and ponder about what it would be like to really have you as his and him as yours, not just some hook-ups only to pretend like nothing happened.

You wanted a real relationship.

After all, you had known each other for months now and would see each other outside of work regardless. You had developed a decent bond so it would only be natural for you both to be together, right?

With that in mind, you confidently stride your way into the same building you enter almost everyday, taking the elevator to the 6th floor and greeting everyone who passed by with gentle smiles and partial waves.

You smiled, until you saw him.

His eyes were practically glued onto yours as you made your way over to him, setting your binders down on the table and sitting down next to him. You crossed your legs per usual and sipped at the latte you grabbed a little before entering, not daring to utter a single syllable in his direction. This, however, left Michikatsu ultimately confused. He did not think he did anything to tick you off or annoy you to an extent, other than the small whispers of teases he'd say in your ear that would get you fired up, so just what was bothering you?

`` Hello, [Y/N]. Is everything okay? You seem particularly silent this morning. ``

You glanced over at the raven haired male to be met with him slightly leaning over, his tie loose and a gentle - yet worried - expression adorning his features. You set your cup down and clear your throat, shaking your head and opening the binder you brought with you.

`` Nothing is of the matter, let us work shall we? We have a busy day today with the amount of proposals we have from neighboring companies. ``

Michikatsu merely nodded, pulling out his own folders of research and studying he had done the night prior to aid you with your part of work as well as lessen the load significantly for the two of you. You may have appreciated his efforts, but that lingering thought of being with him still bothered you throughout the day.

You both worked as though you were in a rush, getting through the assigned papers with ease since it was the two of you, turning them in a little after your lunch break to the second in command of the office building, Hakuji Soyama. He was also a hard worker and extremely loyal to his job, so it was no wonder that he had direct connections to the CEO.

With your work being done, you felt a hand sliding into yours. Looking up at your very much taller coworker, you raise a brow at his choice of actions until you felt your hips being pulled in the other direction until you were standing in front of the same closet where everything started. Your mouth opened to say something, your hand holding onto the doorframe to stop yourself from going inside.

`` Michikatsu, nothing today, alright? Instead I want to ask you something. ``

Michikatsu stopped with his actions, removing his hands from your body out of pure respect and instead of the usual smirk he would have around this time, the tall male had a gentle smile and a softer expression on his face while looking down at you.

`` That is fine with me [Y/N], but what is the question? ``

You toyed with your fingers, removing your gaze from his and sighing out due to pure frustration that you would ever have the thought of trying to have such a heavy conversation in a work space, so you thought of something else instead.

`` Actually..- will you come to my house after work? I'd like to discuss something with you. ``

`` Your house? I guess I'll be free this evening. I'll be there around 7 if that works for you? ``

`` Yes, that is fine. Now, can we finish our work for the day? There's still more that must be done. ``

You turned on your heel to leave, walking ahead of Michikatsu who followed behind quickly, but his mind was stuck on the fact that he was just invited to your home. Your private space that had everything about you represented in a few rooms. He would be lying if he said he wasn't excited about the whole thing, but the one thing on his mind is that just what on earth could you want to talk about?

The day went by rather quickly after your confrontation with Michikatsu near the closet. You both got through your work quickly and communicated about anything else that needed to be done before the day was over, as well as things that could be done another time so you would not have to feel stressed.

By the time you both went through everything and submitted the things you had done, the work day was over, which meant you could go home and prepare to have a lengthy conversation possibly. You exited the building and caught an Uber home, entering your skyrise apartment building and smiling at the front desk woman before taking the elevator up to your home that was only third to the top floor. It was a rather tall building that gave you a gorgeous view of Tokyo so getting it was not easy, but here you are now successful and all.

You kicked off your shoes and greeted your white cat that snuggled itself onto your legs. You smiled at your furry friend and plopped yourself down onto your couch, receiving a notification from Michikatsu who asked about your address. You replied with details and threw your phone somewhere without batting an eyelash, huffing in frustration.

Before you knew it, you heard a doorbell ring take over your eardrums, which meant he had arrived at 7 on the dot like he had said. You opened your double doors and allowed him inside. His eyes practically lit up at the sheer size of your apartment for one singular person, as well as the view you get as soon as you enter that shows off the beauty of Tokyo.

`` Welcome to my semi-humble abode, `` you joked and guided him to your couch, your cat jumping at the new person but relaxing once it felt your hand atop its head.

`` You have a lovely home as I expected from someone who looks lovely every day. ``

`` Don't flatter me too much, it might go to my head. ``

You both laughed, you heading towards your kitchen and making two cups of water and bringing it over to your living room, setting them both on the coffee table in front of you. You nervously took a long and a little dramatic sip, just to prolong the conversation further as nervousness set into your skin. Your mind was running a mile a minute at what his reaction might be. Will he cut you off? Will he switch jobs and delete your contact from his phone? You had absolutely no clue.

`` S-So.. what is it that you wanted to talk about?, `` He asked, getting the conversation started. You pulled the cup away from your lips, setting it down and sighing once more.

`` I wanted to talk about us..- and well, our relationship I guess? ``

Your works left Michikatsu in shock as soon as they left your pretty lips, his eyes slightly widening but relaxing right after, his gaze stuck on your eyes, trying to think of a proper response until you spoke again.

`` Michikatsu, we've been fucking around for months. Sure we've went on "dates" before but they didn't mean as much as they do now. So I wanted to ask you personally, what are we? ``

He was left stammering on his words, and for once his face wasn't red from pleasure but instead of embarrassment. Sure, you had been known to be straightforward and blunt before but being that right now left his feelings in disarray. He tore his eyes from you finally, looking down and being left in his own thoughts. You gave him time to think, seeing as how it was a heavy question.

But little did you know he felt the exact same way.

Since he joined the company a little later, you were his senior, and you being in a position higher than him only enticed him even more. It wasn't only that though, each and every time he saw your face, happiness would strike his heart since you were there yet another day. It almost felt surreal that you even existed with how utterly drop-dead gorgeous you were. Of course, with you being such an eye-catching woman, he has over heard the other males in the office speak about you and your body only, but he had come to appreciate every part of you whether that be your body or joyous personality.

`` Michikatsu, please say something. ``

Your words brought him from his thoughts, but looking at your face that was so stern and had a piercing gaze that he could not stop his cheeks from heating up. You raised a brow at this until he began to speak in a calm manner.

`` In the truth of it all, I have thought about this as well. In fact I was planning on talking to you about it but my nervousness got the best of me.

Hearing the male be so honest and vulnerable with you honestly pulled at your heartstrings. You listened intently for what else he had to say but nothing could have prepared you for this.

`` I'm going to be completely honest, I didn't just fall for your body, but for you as a whole. You draw me in with that gaze of yours and I can't help but to not ignore it. [Y/N], I want to be more to you. ``

This time you were fully taken aback by his choice of words, your eyes pretty much tripled in size. Your lips quivered to say something, albeit a "yes" or just anything in general, but so much ecstatic emotions overflooded your mind that you felt overwhelmed.

Michikatsu watched your face and your body movement, automatically telling that you were a little emotional at the moment so he opened his arms, inviting you in which you happily accepted. Your arms wrapped around his larger frame, his easily being able to envelop you in warmth and care. You allowed your senses to be overtaken by his, his scent of cologne being so fresh and inviting that that allowed yourself to sink into his embrace further.

`` I take it that you are happy with my response?, `` the male said whilst looking down at you, he notices tears pricking the ends of your eyes but he quickly wiped them away with his finger, caressing your cheek afterwards and having a gentle smile on his features.

`` I believe so, so Michikatsu, what does this mean for us? ``

`` I think it means that I'll be yours and you'll be mine. ``

`` I like the sound of that. ``

You moved closer to his face now that your emotions had calmed down just a little, but hearing the words that came from his resplendent and flavorsome lips had you yearning for more than just his words. You wanted more of him now that it was official.

He quickly caught on to what you were implying and leaned closer to your face until your lips connected in a singular heated kiss that had your legs squeezing shut already.

You wanted him more than any other time before.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

#kokushibou #kny kokushibou #kokushibo x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer kokushibou #kny fluff #kny fanfic #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer fluff #☆Myrulia Lyric Prompts

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ckneal · 3 years ago

Text

There’s a midam AU idea that’s been living in the back of my mind for months now, but it’s been slow going. Mainly because I suspect that doing the idea justice is going to mean doing more research than I’m used to, and maybe even rewatching the series proper to help me fill in some of the weak spots, and I have so many other story ideas that are frankly just easier to work on, two of which are already slated to be multi-chapter works. . . But I’m in the mood to type up something longwinded, so here we go. Keep reading if you’d like to see a rough outline of the first few chapters of this story I really hope to write out properly sometime.

(Warning, this is a long one.)

So, this story is loosely based on the Hundred Years War that took place between England and France from 1337-1453. But it’s only very loosely inspired. Very, very loosely. As in, I was reading a book, I read about one thing that happened, it germinated in my head, and then suddenly I had a plot developing that featured my current favorite ship. Additional sources of inspiration include one of my favorite fantasy series, and a personally beloved trashy romance novel. Because it’s fanfiction, folks. There are no rules here.

Of course, in this AU, the entire world is going to be made up, with neither side of the war distinctly being assigned the role of England or France—or Flanders or Burgundy, for that matter. I barrowed an inciting incident, and few smaller details from history to help things along here and there, but with no regard for keeping all the French things assigned to one group and the English ones to another.

That said, the inciting incident took its inspiration from the Battle of Poiters, a conflict during which England not only won against the French, but also took their king hostage. King Jean II was later ransomed back to his people, but at a sum that was so high, France could not afford to pay it all at once. England still returned France’s king, but new hostages were provided to serve as collateral during the interim, including the King’s son.

So. . .crown Prince Michael Shurley completely decimates King John Winchester on the battlefield, and sends his demands to John’s queen, Mary Winchester. The two kingdoms have been locked in a territory dispute for several decades, and this is one of the more humiliating events to befall the smaller kingdom yet, especially since they are unable to meet all of Michael’s demands. When the Winchesters begrudgingly admit this to the Shurley representatives, they’re caught off guard when they’re offered a trade: John Winchester will be returned, so long Dean Winchester takes his place as collateral.

Things are less than stable in the Winchester kingdom however, with more than a few factions quietly scheming for power. John and Mary were an arranged marriage that was originally held up like a fairytale when the two seemingly fell madly in love during their mandated courtship, but the years afterward had changed them. Civil unrest sparked by the war had brought out a lot of disagreements between the Winchesters and the Campbells and their approaches to governing.

John’s supporters are the ones to step forward with a plan, and convince Mary that it’s vitally important the people are not alarmed by their king’s capture. Mary initially finds it distasteful, but it’s talked around and adjusted and reframed, as John’s people ferret out more and more information about the vital party involved, until she finally agrees.

Because John Winchester just happened to have a bastard son. The resemblance to Dean might not be particularly remarkable, but no one at the Shurley court has ever seen the Winchester heir before. Plus, Adam Milligan has spent the entirety of his teen years studying to become a physician, of all things. He’s perfect for their purposes.

Ten years prior, the Shurley court had had to deal with its own bout of civil unrest, when King Chuck Shurley’s second eldest son had attempted to overthrow him with the support of several nobles from one the kingdom’s richest providences. Lucifer had allegedly been driven into exile following his defeat, and Chuck had been said to have contracted some sort of mysterious illness. According to rumors, the king had shut himself up in his private chambers and refused to admit anyone apart from his remaining children. Even servants were barred from tending him directly.

They snatch Adam away from his studies and force him into compliance by dusting off an archaic law left over from before the start of the war, when the kingdom relied on a conscription military force rather than a standing army full of career military professionals—this law empowering the crown to call on any of its citizens for a minimum forty days of military service per year. They tell Adam that his mission seems more dangerous than it is—really, all he has to do is pretend to be Dean, and use his medical knowledge to figure out exactly what mysterious illness has bedridden the enemy monarch.

Sam and Dean—the proverbial heir and spare of the kingdom—are not at court to meet their younger brother, when he’s hastily fitted for a royal wardrobe and put through a crash course on court etiquette. Sam is very publicly put on display at a holiday festival in another part of the kingdom, while Dean is sent orders to quietly stay behind at a country estate while his valet, Kevin Tran, is sent on to court. Neither of the princes is told about the plan until after Adam has already been shipped out, with Kevin in toe to help Adam along with the impersonation.

No one involved is in anyway comfortable with the mission. But it was only supposed to be for forty days. Adam was assured that the necessary funds to pay off the ransom would either be raised by the end of the minimum mandated service, or they would make contact to extract him. The Campbells and the Winchesters both allegedly had spies in the Shurley court, and they would make themselves known when the time was right.

Adam is given the impression that the latter had been told to him with the intention of making him feel safer. It did not work.

He’s terrified when he arrives—almost would have preferred being promptly thrown into a dungeon upon arrival, instead of a room full of foreign nobility who one and all give off the impression that if cut they’d bleed straight silver, and look at “Dean,” the hostage prince and purported military genius from the tiny, vicious country across the channel, as a curiosity to be studied. He’s assigned two guards (who I decided will be Anael and Samandriel, based entirely on the tags I threw together at then end of this post, during which I decided that I love these three together), who follow him around relentlessly, but beyond that, he’s. . .pretty much treated like a guest. If a stiflingly monitored one. There are limitations on where he can go and what he can do, but for the most part he’s just sort of. . .there.

Most unnerving of all, however, is the small package that Adam finds in his room when he first settles in. Kevin swears he has no idea who left it. It has the Campbell’s insignia clearly worked into the pattern of the paper it’s wrapped in, and inside he finds a knife small enough to conceal on his person, and a number of different herbs and powders that he recognizes from his studies—though of course, he’s more familiar with remedies to counteract their effects.

In other words, he finds an assassin’s-first-kill-job kit, and instructions on how and when to use it, if opportunity arises. This had not been part of the deal when Adam reluctantly signed on.

Unbeknownst to Adam however—though suspected by some parties in the Winchester court—Adam cannot assassinate Chuck Shurley, because Chuck is not there. Shortly after Lucifer’s insurrection, Chuck had quietly disappeared. Michael had only been a teenager at the time. He invented the story about Chuck being ill on impulse, certain that Chuck would be back sooner than later, and Raphael had gone along with it because, being twelve years old, Raphael was not yet old enough to question Michael’s judgement. It is now an awkward point between them.

Adam soon becomes another.

Michael regularly checks in to see how Adam’s getting on, in a way that Kevin assures Adam is entirely appropriate, since Michael is under the impression that Adam is going to be a fellow monarch someday, and is likely trying to be courteous. Adam inherently feels somewhat flustered around Michael though, which is not helped by the fact that Michael is somehow always present whenever Adam puts his foot in his mouth socially. On more than one occasion, he’s thankful that almost no one has actually been to his homeland, allowing Adam to blame an astonishing number of fuck ups on cultural differences.

Michael and Adam’s early one on one interaction are intensely awkward. Adam will forget to wear gloves, and then Michael will comment that Adam’s hands are oddly devoid of callouses for someone who’d practically been raised with a sword in his hand, leaving Adam to scramble for some flimsy excuse about hand cream. Adam will inquisitively ask questions about what sort of illness would be severe enough to leave someone bedridden for a decade but not kill them in that time (Kevin frantically motioning over Michael’s shoulder to convey that that is NOT the right way to fish for details on such a sensitive subject), and Michael will struggle to find an excuse around the quietly bubbling panic, because he hasn’t had to try to explain anything about his father since that first year, and he is not a particularly gifted liar.

And then there’s Raphael.

Unlike Michael, Raphael is suspicious of “Dean” right from the start, pulling Michael aside to point out things that don’t seem quite right according to what their informants have told them about Dean Winchester.

“Doesn’t he look a bit young?”

“Some people look younger than they are, Raphael.”

“I was told Dean Winchester had dark hair.”

“Dark blond is dark.”

“Aren’t his eyes supposed to be green?”

“They’re obviously blue.”

“That’s exactly my point.”

The forty days come and go with Adam and Kevin nervously waiting for some sort of sign from home. Roughly two weeks later, a messenger arrives with unexpected news for Michael’s court: the Campbells have officially broken ties with the Winchesters in a violent bid for power that has left the kingdom at war with itself.

According to Kevin, the civil war has probably slowed things down a bit, if it’s as bad as the rumors say. . .

Adam and Kevin are stranded.

“Don’t worry though—I know Dean, and he knows our necks are on the line. He’ll keep out of sight until they manage to get us out of here.”

Adam finds it difficult to put faith in the virtues of a brother he’s never met, but doesn’t have it in him to question Kevin’s faith. He worries about his mother, who might have been safe in the countryside, but also might have made the trek to the capitol when it came out that Adam had been abducted for the sake of persevering the royal family's throne. He can’t be sure.

And to top it off, Michael takes to stopping by Adam’s room every couple of days to privately talk about the movements of the various factions—who has been sighted where and in what condition, where they’re rumored to be headed. Adam interprets it as an attempt to shake out inside information. One day, Adam finally tries to set him straight by saying it doesn’t matter how many ugly details Michael throws at him, Adam can’t help him because he doesn’t know anything—and is promptly put to shame when Michael looks at him in surprise and says, “You misunderstand. I assumed that you would want to know these things, because they are your family.”

Michael leaves, and Adam’s guards exchange a look. When asked, Samandriel awkwardly tells Adam that the royal family used to have a fourth child. Gabriel. He was lost during Lucifer’s insurrection. Pirates overtook his ship. They’d never received a ransom. Michael had purportedly offered a standing reward for any news of Gabriel, and put an unwise amount of resources into searching for him until it threatened the war effort.

Adam and Michael start talking more frequently from there, starting with an apology on Adam’s part. It’s tricky at first, because Michael starts out asking questions about Dean Winchester's military exploits—it is the most likely common ground between them, after all—and Adam has to hastily change the subject every time. By the two month mark, they’re talking affably, and rumors start to circulate through the courts as Michael's routine check ins on Adam start getting less formal and more frequent.

On the four month mark, rumors get even worse. Raphael finally sits Michael down and really gets into all of the things about “Dean” that don’t add up, item by item. If he’s trying to pretend he doesn’t know anything about his country’s military exploits, he’s far too convincing given his reported record, and Raphael has it on good authority that more than half of those “cultural differences” in etiquette that keep cropping up are completely unfounded—and look here, three different informants have sent lists of Dean Winchester’s physical characteristics, and the foreign prince DOES NOT MATCH.

“Michael, something is not right here.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him about it now.”

And Michael storms off to address “Dean,” while Raphael calls after him that he should wait until morning. Because it is the middle of the night.

Adam just happens to be up reading. Michael’s familiar with the book. Michael gets distracted, and they talk all night. The sun’s coming up when Michael finally leaves, and a servant happens to see him slipping out of Adam’s room. Suggestive conjectures promptly follow, and Raphael exasperatedly admits they only have themself to blame.

And this only gets worse, because now Adam and Michael have transitioned into being friends. No more guarded conversations where one is convinced the other is about to catch them in some sort of lie. When Raphael mentions that some of the lesser nobles are starting to think Michael and Adam are courting, Michael’s fidgeting is not at all lost on them, as Michael assures them that of course that isn't the case. He and Dean are merely establishing friendly relations that will serve them well down the road politically—

“After the war is over?”

“Of course, after the war is over.”

Adam’s been stranded in the Shurley court for almost a year by the time that he finally slips into his room and sees a sealed message set out on his bed. Adam doesn’t recognize the insignia as belonging to either the Winchesters or the Campbells, but it’s signed with the initials “SW” at the bottom. It mostly contains a lot of vague phrases that make Adam wonder if he was supposed to be versed in some sort of code. As far as he’s concerned, the only important information comes at the end: Kate Milligan has been safely relocated for the duration of the civil war.

Relieved, Adam goes down to dinner, where some sort of seasonal holiday is being celebrated, and has a bit more wine than he normally would. The Shurley court is one of those stuffy courts where seating is stiffly dictated by tradition. As a foreign prince, Adam’s assigned seat is at the same table as Michael, although, according to Kevin, his placement's much further down due to his being a hostage. After a few drinks, and after most of the nobles have cleared off from the table to talk and celebrate elsewhere in the hall, Adam sees no reason not to get up and relocate down the line of chairs to sit closer to Michael. It was against the rules, but Adam was aware enough not to sit in Raphael’s empty seat, and he’d been seen with Michael so often that Anael and Samandriel barely even blinked, because Adam obviously wasn’t about to attack their prince or anything.

However, it is worth noting that while talking to Adam, Michael consumes a decent amount more wine than he would normally have as well.

Later that night, Michael’s walking Adam back to his room, and he starts to comment that Adam seems happier than usual. But even when sober, Michael would struggle to say something like that—if he’d even attempt it while sober—and Adam winds up biting his lip as he watches Michael’s mounting embarrassment, as a simple compliment inexplicably morphs—words seemingly forcing their way out as Michael tries and utterly fails to stop them—into a compliment about how Adam is beautiful—that is, he’s always beautiful—that is, Michael can’t help noticing Adam most days—that is. . .

. . .Michael is adorable. And in a moment of pure, thoughtless impulse, Adam leans in and kisses Michael right there in the corridor.

Michael is profoundly shocked, and his reaction delayed. Adam had only gone in intending to briefly press his lips against Michael’s, but as he’s pulling away Michael abruptly leans in and reseals the kiss, and Adam in turn takes that as an invitation to pull Michael closer. And a few minutes later, Raphael happens to walk down the hallway and find the two of them enthusiastically kissing against the wall.

And Raphael promptly turns around and goes back the way they came, only stopping at one point to flag down a servant and order them not to let anyone else walk down that particular corridor for at least an hour, hoping that Michael and Adam’s “friendly relations” wouldn’t result in anything too inappropriate.

As it happens, nothing particularly inappropriate happens. Nonetheless, Michael still wakes up the next morning, fully clothed in his own bed, in panic because the first thought to distinctly make its way through the ungodly pain in his head is that he’d taken liberties with a guest the night before. The heir to a foreign power at that, a peer, a hostage! Michael never thought he was capable of something so dishonorable--he’d had Dean pressed up against the wall as if they were a couple of ill-bred urchins, and how does one even go about apologizing for something like that?

(Of course, if Michael were thinking clearly, he might have remembered that Adam had actually been the one to back himself up against the wall, with Michael obligingly following along, quite malleable to whatever positioning Adam wanted so long as Adam kept kissing him.)

Michael’s behavior was beyond unacceptable. If his father hadn’t already abandoned them, he’d likely disown Michael out of pure shame. There was no telling what kind of damage he’d done to the relationship between their kingdoms. At best, Michael’s uncouth actions would be a dirty secret between them in the years to come, after Dean married, and Michael was left barely able to look Dean’s spouse in the eye. If Michael were a lesser noble, his parents might demand he married Dean outright.

And suddenly Michael sat up in bed, realizing he could marry Dean. His mind begins racing, because of course he could marry Dean! It made perfect sense. They enjoyed each other’s company, and with both of them being heir to their respective kingdoms, their union would effectively end the war. It might be complicated—especially given some of the odd customs Dean had introduced to Michael’s court—but marriages had been used to cemented alliances often enough, and the thought of marrying Dean elicited a curiously hot feeling in Michael’s stomach, remembering the way Adam had pulled him close the night before.

(Fun fact, England and France actually did try to do this with the Treaty of Troyes in 1420; it did not go as planned.)

Michael goes through the rest of his day in an uncharacteristically upbeat mindset, because now it all seems to just be a matter of organizing things, and he is good at organizing. He would have to write to either John or Mary Winchester as soon as the situation in their kingdom settled, and formally ask for Dean’s hand, and he and Dean should have a chaperone present at all times moving forward to avoid scandal--though there would be no way to sidestep scandal altogether, of course. Adam was still technically Michael’s prisoner.

More than likely, the Winchesters or Campbells would demand Michael relinquish his claim to at least half of the territories that they’d spent the last few decades fighting over, but that would be fine. It’s traditional in Michael’s country to give gifts to one’s in-laws, and Dean is a future monarch. Anything too little would be insulting, and all would be consolidated eventually when Dean and Michael assumed their respective thrones. . .

Michael is still walking around delightfully living in his own head when Raphael pulls him into an empty room to discuss what they witnessed the night before. While not the most shocking scenario they could have imagined, they were not expecting to hear their brother announce that he and Dean Winchester would be getting married.

“And how are we to explain away our father’s absence during the proceedings, Michael?”

Michael’s good mood promptly withers. Because of course Chuck would be expected to play some part in arranging his son’s wedding. Ill or not, at the very least, he would be expected to make an appearance at the wedding. To have no part in it at all would be suspicious, not to mention rude.

While Raphael intended to snap Michael back to his senses, they had not meant to shake Michael into an immediate depression. They try for a gentler tone.

“You know, Michael. Our father has been gone for over a decade. He left no formal plans, he's sent no word. By any standard, he's abdicated. Perhaps this isn’t the right time to introduce a political marriage. Perhaps we should consider your assuming the kingship, and then come back around to formalizing your relationship with Dean—”

Michael, of course, is against this. Because their father is alive, and he will come back, and it will not be to find that another one of his sons had greedily tried to usurp the throne.

Seeing Michael about to fall back onto a familiar tangent, Raphael chooses the lesser of two evils and takes the conversation back to “Dean.” They ask which out of the two of them proposed to the other.

Michael abruptly realizes that he's forgotten something.

Meanwhile, Adam starts his morning on a much happier note. His headache is less punishing than Michael’s, and while feeling the normal amount of embarrassment that comes with drinking a little too much, the feeling does not extend to kissing Michael. His mother’s safe, he’s nailing his Dean impression, and Michael apparently likes him. Things could not be better. Until Adam remembers how the latter two items on that list are linked.

Michael is not like a classmate back home, who he could chat up, get a drink with, and maybe start seeing regularly if all things went well. Michael is, in fact, the acting ruler of one of the most powerful countries in the world, which just so happens to be at war with Adam’s, and under the explicit impression that Adam is similarly situated in the world.

Adam promptly begins freaking out.

And then Michael finds him.

Adam’s in the library at the time. Michael walks in and quietly dismisses Adam’s guards, and Kevin, leaving the two of them completely alone. Adam doesn’t realize what Michael’s doing right away, though he’s spent enough time with Michael to recognize how nervous he is as he starts talking about a proposal to end the war—selling the idea, as if Michael wouldn’t be enough on his own—and then sheepishly tapering into the idea that both he and Adam seem to have feelings for one another. And if Adam were able to go back in time and strangle his tipsy past self, he would, because then he wouldn’t have to see the look on Michael’s face when he says no.

And no, Michael does not understand.

Adam can hear years of living in the public eye at work in Michael voice, as he just manages to keep his voice level in asking, “Even if it would mean peace?”

"I'm sorry, I just—I can't."

". . .I see."

Michael excuses himself, and Adam collapses onto a couch, assuring himself that no was the only right answer, and he shouldn’t feel terrible—which, of course, since Adam’s spent the last couple of months flirting with Michael while posing as someone else, is not an easy idea to buy into.

Michael and Adam avoid eye contact at dinner, even as Raphael—who has zero doubts as to who initiated what the night before—practically burns holes into Adam’s skin with the looks they shoot down the table.

And then a messenger comes in. One of the wealthiest duchies in the kingdom (the same one that had once supported Lucifer, and of course would be populated with demon characters in the narrative) has declared its independence, having formed an alliance with the Campbells, and has launched an attack not far from the castle. Several villages have already been attacked along the way. Michael accompanies the armed forces he sends out to quash the uprising.

Raphael is left behind to fortify the castle and take in the refugees, who the messenger assured them are not far behind. Unlike Michael, Raphael rarely saw combat. Officially, it was because Raphael had adamantly insisted on training as a healer rather than a warrior, which was true enough. Unofficially though, Michael and Raphael are both fully aware that if anything happened to Michael, Raphael is the only one left to inherent the crown.

Samandirel and Anael escort Adam back to his room. Samandriel assures Adam that no one thinks he had anything to do with the duchy double crossing them, but it would probably just be safer for Adam to stay out of sight until things calm down. Anael is more closed-lipped about the situation.

From his window, Adam watches the first of the villagers come trickling in, and even from his vantage point he can make out burn wounds, makeshift bandages and hastily thrown together tourniquets, and he’s in hell, because it seems the only two options in front of him are to worry about Michael, or feel absolutely sick with guilt because he’s a trained physician and he should be down there helping.

Finally he pokes his head out into the corridor and asks if someone can find Kevin for him. Anael raises an eyebrow that “Dean,” who’s usually inordinately self-suffice for a prince, is suddenly insisting that he needs to see his manservant, but Samandriel is already helpfully heading down the hall. A few minutes later, Kevin is in Adam’s room, confused, as Adam asks him to take off his clothes.

“You can have mine, just switch with me, okay?”

“Uuh. . . Don’t you think mine will be a little tight on you—”

“Less talk! Strip!”

Michael had probably errored in assigning the same two guards to watch over Adam. After a year, the three of them had gotten to be on fairly familiar terms. Adam waited until Samandriel started to get chatty, and slipped quietly out of his room when Anael was distracted—neither of them having had any reason to think Adam would try to escape, because he had been nothing but compliant since the day he arrived.

From there, he goes straight to the infirmary.

Raphael had set up tents in the courtyard to accommodate the high number of people in need of care. Adam was a year out of practice, but the atmosphere was still familiar to him, and he slipped into the chaos unnoticed. Raphael doesn’t notice him until they are well into the thick of things, and Adam’s as covered in grime and gore as anyone else present. Adam had just gone for more bandages and the two of them nearly ran into each other, and for a split second Adam thinks Raphael just might not recognize him until hand closes around his arm like a vice.

“What exactly are YOU doing here?”

Then Raphael notices the stitches Adam had just finished putting in for his latest patient—and Adam’s stitchwork is immaculate, not the clumsy, half-hazard work of a solider who picked up the mechanics of it over the course of their career.

"YOU did that?"

Adam starts to fumble out an answer, but they are interrupted because then Michael is being brought in. The fighting is over. Raphael and Adam promptly drop everything.

Michael has a concussion. He’s also been lightly stabbed. You know, just lightly. Needs stitches though. Raphael is adamant that Adam leave immediately, but Michael, who is delirious, sees Adam and absolutely refuses to let Raphael send him away. Raphael winds up patching Michael together while Adam—annoyingly, to Raphael—is sat next to him, holding Michael’s hand. Adam winds up sitting next to Michael all night, because it’s the only way to keep Michael from getting up and tearing his stitches like a feverish moron.

Initially, Raphael refuses to leave too, not trusting their brother’s suspiciously competent love interest, whose family was purportedly allied with the traitors who’d just attacked their people. There are still more wounded to tend to, however, and Raphael begrudgingly has to step away—making sure to leave orders that a guard be present in the room the entire time that Raphael is gone.

Little does Raphael know, Adam would have lowkey given a limb to have Raphael stay. Michael’s demeanor is a lot less closed off when he’s feverish and concussed. Shortly after Raphael leaves, Michael starts apologizing for proposing earlier, and Adam feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut. And as he’s lying there, looking at Adam’s hand in his, Michael starts saying things he would not normally blurt out—like that ending the war was not the main reason he wanted to marry Adam, because the last year has been the best he can remember, and it is entirely due to spending time with Adam—even if Adam was only there by obligation—and he would do anything to make Adam happy, even if they weren’t together—and Adam is just stuck there, highkey dying on the inside.

Then Michael sees his face.

"I apologize, you’ve already said you do not want to marry me, I should not have brought this up—”

Michael starts to get out of bed completely unconcerned about his stab wounds, and as Adam’s pushing him back down, the words “That’s not true!” just sort of. . .fly out.

Then Michael’s suddenly looking at Adam, and his face is suddenly very sober, and Adam can feel his own face turning red.

"That is, I. . ." Adam realizes, suddenly, that he’s fucked. Telling Michael the truth is somehow both the right and wrong thing to do at the same time, and Michael is definitely in no condition to hear it either way. “How about, if you still want to marry me when all this is over, then I’ll say yes?”

The next morning is a string of stressful events for Adam. Raphael shooed him out of Michael room at dawn, and Adam went straight back to his own. Kevin, Samandriel, and Anael had all been reprimanded for Adam’s escape, with the latter two being replaced as Adam’s guard under Raphael’s orders. His first interaction with Ishim and Maribel does not bode well for them becoming friends.

When Adam tells Kevin that he’s thinking about coming clean to Michael, Kevin panics. News from the Winchesters had dried up weeks ago, even for Michael and Raphael’s sources. Kevin argues that they’d be better off attempting to escape on their own if the charade was getting to be too much for Adam, especially after last night—but even then, they should wait awhile longer. Why take any chances right now? And Adam doesn’t know how to go about explaining the why. . .

And it gets taken out of his hands anyway, when they step out of the room and find that it’s somehow leaked that Adam and Michael—who had completely misunderstood what Adam meant by “when all this is over”—are engaged.

Kevin doesn’t get another moment alone with Adam to discuss how stupidly dangerous this whole situation is, and Adam, no matter how hard he tries—can’t seem to get a moment alone with his fiancé to try to explain that the situation is not what he thinks it is. Everyone had vastly underestimated how far the rumors about Michael and Adam secretly courting had gone, and Adam can barely take three steps without a noble or courtier or someone pulling him aside to offer their congratulations, and as Adam gets closer to Michael’s chambers, there’s Raphael, circling like a shark and Adam does not want to make his confession to Raphael before he sees Michael.

Come dinner time, Adam finds that his seat had been reassigned. He now sits directly to Michael’s left. He keeps trying to convince Michael to step out into the hall with him for a second, while Raphael, seated in their normal place to Michael’s right, continuously circumvents him, firmly believing that Adam has done more than enough in private.

Then there’s a scream. A servant comes running out into the dining hall, carrying a bloody knife. They run up to Michael—up until the guards step forward to stop her, but she’s not attacking. Instead she hands over the knife and says that she found in the corridor outside the king’s chambers. She had been worried, so she broke protocol and went in. The king’s bed was drenched in blood.

Adam looks over and feels a chill when he recognizes the same knife that had been included in the murder kit he found in his room on day one.

If Raphael had looked up, Adam had no doubt that Raphael would have read something in his face, but they didn’t get the chance to. Michael and Raphael are busy staring at each, the only ones in the room who know beyond any doubt that the implication could not be true, because there had not been anyone in that bed to assassinate in over ten years. Neither of them is given the chance to try to spin the knife’s implications in any direction, however. While the court is still reeling in shocked silence, a guard walks in—completely oblivious—and announces that a messenger has arrived with urgent news.

Adam looks up, and finds he has room to panic more, when he sees Anna Milton walk in, a serving maid in the Winchester court, and as she drops a curtsey to Michael, she identifies herself as one of Raphael’s spies. She had held her place in the Winchester court for as long as she could, but when her real identity had been uncovered she’d had no choice but to flee, and she’s come with monumental news. The civil war across the channel has ended, the Campbells having been forced to seek asylum with their allies outside the kingdom, John Winchester deposed, and Dean Winchester installed on the throne in his place. She had witnessed his coronation herself the very day they identified her.

And Adam feels very cold, as if his blood had actually managed to turn into ice, which would have explained why he couldn’t seem to move, as every eye in the room immediately turns to him.

And that would be the end of part one.

#midam #adam milligan #supernatural michael #samandriel #supernatural raphael #anael #kevin tran #my thougths #i'm very tempted to throw jack in a joan-of-arc-inspired role

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aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years ago

Note

Okay, so you said I could send an ask for headcanons about the childhoods of some specific merc(s)... I think I would really like to read your headcanons about Soldier’s and Engineer’s childhood :)

Thanks in advance and I hope your well.

Ooooh…I’ve been waiting for this! And thank you for being specific and not just saying “the rest of them.” Sometimes I get overwhelmed with nine specific mercs to write for. Your specifics are much appreciated.

****************

Soldier:

Soldier doesn’t talk very much about his childhood - whether it’s because something happened or he just doesn’t remember it, no one can tell. It’s nowhere in his file, either…he refused to do anything except tell fantastic tales of a fictional youth.

However, in a rare streak of almost lucidity, he spouted off the entirety of his younger years, much to the team’s surprise. Usually, if anyone asked directly, he changed the subject.

But now he described everything in vivid detail. And, with a bit of research from Miss Pauling, everything fell into place.

Apparently he had been born in a small military town in Georgia. His father was overseas, leaving he and his mother alone in their small yellow house.

In order to make ends meet, his mother worked at a nearby factory, mostly leaving Soldier to fend for himself and the house.

“Can you be a big, strong soldier like daddy for me?”

Soldier would always agree, finding his own food, his own entertainment, and his own friends. No matter what happened, he never bothered his mom. If anything, his job was to protect her.

That’s why, when his stomach started hurting and his arms and legs ached, he said nothing about it.

When he forgot the chores he was supposed to do and even the names of his friends, he didn’t bring it up.

When he felt tired all the time and some days could barely get out of bed, he just chalked it up to laziness like his mother did.

It turns out the factory they were next to was polluting the water next to the house with dangerous amounts of lead, which soon overcame Soldier’s immune system of steel.

He could barely remember anything anymore, and he became more and more distraught every day. Sometimes he would forget where he was and run outside, then get lost in the woods, only coming back once he remembered where he was supposed to be.

Soldier began to wear one of his father’s old helmets after his mom commented on his red eyes and the dark circles around them. He didn’t want to worry her. Besides, it helped bring back a few memories if he ever got lost again.

Finally, it got to the point where he didn’t even remember his mother, or his promise to her. He began to wander farther and farther away from home.

One day, he didn’t come back at all.

Out in the world with not a single memory to his name, Soldier wandered far and wide. He usually slept in barns and old, abandoned houses, cut off from most people.

Occasionally, he would find a family that wanted to “raise him as their own,” only to turn him away after finding him too difficult to care for.

He had frequent nightmares, ate little due to his unresolved stomach issues, and could barely walk ten feet without forgetting where he was going.

If he accidentally wandered into the same house twice, he would be chased out with either a broom or a gun - usually the latter.

He became “the demon child” in some counties, and “g*psy kid” in others, due to his long, unkempt hair, hidden eyes, and odd habits.

It even got to the point where Soldier couldn’t sleep on anyone’s property because he would be actively fought off like a wolf or a bear.

His only pleasure was an old movie theater that, as he recovered from his lead poisoning, remembered the location of and frequently snuck into.

The only thing that played were romance movies - which, like many children, Soldier hated - and war movies, which he watched over and over again with starving eyes.

Because of these movies, a single memory from his mother’s house came to him. A woman, tall and muscular from hard labor, giving him a shiny badge to hold, asking him to be a strong soldier like his father.

And thus began his life-long dream of becoming a military officer.

He trained according to what he knew from the films…which was mostly running, doing jumping jacks, and occasionally rolling around in the mud.

This only served to distance him further from his fellow human beings, but he didn’t care. Soldier had a mission, and he was going to do it well.

But the biggest change was his hair.

He had started cutting it off with sharpened rocks, but he was always saving up coins he found for a “proper army cut.”

Finally, he had quite the collection in a dirty mason jar, and marched into the barber shop in his town to ask for a haircut.

The manager was appalled, and at first refused, but Soldier stood his ground.

“Civilian, I’ll have you know that by denying a soldier with a haircut, you are denying America one of its best fighters! I can’t curdle the enemy’s blood looking like a hippie!”

After a short yelling match that, of course, Soldier won, the manager decided it would be in his best interest to comply.

He walked out of that shop with no hair on his head, but a huge grin on his face. Next stop, the ranks.

Soldier went from draft office to draft office, applying for and being denied entrance to the army for his obvious lack of mental stability.

This is when the personal retelling ended, since Soldier became very upset by the memory of his recruitment failures, but Miss Pauling concluded that he just bounced from state to state until Mann Co. found him, quote, “sitting in an alleyway, eating army draft paperwork while sobbing uncontrollably.”

Engineer:

Engineer also never really talks about his childhood, but both Medic and Spy (Spy knows everything about everyone on the team) know that’s for a good reason.

He grew up in a trailer community near an almost ghost town in Texas.

His father was an abusive car mechanic with a mean streak a mile wide and a shop full of failed inventions. His mother wasn’t any better - she was bitter and reclusive, only really coming out of her room to pick a fight with her husband.

However, what Engie lacked in family, he more than made up for in friends.

He had a rag-tag, Rugrats-esque team of pals from all walks of life: Rhapsody, the daughter of a struggling porn star; Tom, the son of two farmers wiped out by blight; Cici, an adopted girl that could barely walk into her trailer without a black eye and a string of slurs; Quinn, the nervous child of a single mother that serves as guidance to the other kids; And Fred, who didn’t seem to have any family, but had become a greaser big brother to all of them.

Together, they explored the desert near the trailer park, pooled their resources to feed and support each other, and used their individual strengths to get through each day.

Engineer, whom everyone affectionately called “Big Dell,” snuck parts from his dad’s workshop for his own creations.

By the time he was twelve, he could make a small, running engine for the soapbox cars his friends frequently raced.

No toy, piece of clothing, glasses, or tool was out of his line of expertise.

One day, though, upon finding that some of his parts were missing, Engineer’s dad gave him a terrible beating that broke a few of his fingers and left a huge gash near his eye.

Since then, he refused to fix, make, or even touch a tool.

He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, but they could make a pretty good guess, since they knew where the scraps and parts had come from.

The whole group was furious with Engineer’s dad - their Big Dell was funny, smart, and was more loving than every family member they had combined. Even Quinn was red in the face.

They wanted to break into his dad’s workshop and destroy all of his inventions, just to teach him a lesson, but they knew Engineer would take the fall for it.

Instead, they rummaged through trash cans, searched their toy chests, and looked under their trailers to find things Engineer could use.

They waited until his birthday to unveil the massive pile of supplies they had stowed away.

Engineer immediately dropped to his knees and began to cry, and everyone else dogpiled him for a huge hug.

As the creme de la creme, they gave him a pair of welding goggles - the same welding goggles he wears to this day, having modified them so they still fit his growing body.

With his healed fingers and renewed spirit, he made each of them a gift: a toy car for Rhapsody, a skull ring for Fred, a full set of candle wax crayons for Cici, a chewable necklace for Quinn so they wouldn’t chew on their collar, and a mini-planter for Tom.

But Engineer was given the greatest gift - confidence in his own abilities and that he can be and was appreciated for more than his services.

This gave him the drive to build bigger and better things, which his friends happily assisted in creating.

Engie’s best memories are with that motley crew of scrawny, beaten-up kids.

But, as he became a teenager, the abuse grew worse by the day.

He was often kept in his dad’s garage to fix cars in sweltering heat and with nothing to show for his work except threats of what would happen if a customer complained.

His mother finally grew bitter enough to pick on him, wondering aloud and pointedly if she had made a mistake by having him, then immediately contradict herself by wailing in his arms about how she’s the most awful mother in the world, and how she would be gone soon, and then nobody would have to deal with her anymore.

Engie grew more and more distant from his friends as they either moved out, ran away, or, in Rhapsody’s case, died.

He thought of just shutting the garage door and turning on a car a couple times, but he would always return to his memories of the hidden cave of goodies his friends had collected or the many inventions they had helped him build.

It just wasn’t worth it.

On a night when his depression and self-doubt was especially bad, he decided to build a personal invention for the first time in years - a small, robotic chicken made out of bent gears and empty oil cans.

He worked on it for a few weeks, but made the mistake of leaving it on a work table once it was finished.

Engie came to work the next morning with his dad ready to chew him out. But, before any finger could be lifted against his son, he was interrupted by a sweet older couple that was having their tires replaced.

“Now, Ethan, ain’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“Hm?”

“That there chicken statue over there! It looks like it could very well get up and start peckin’ for worms, don’tcha think?”

Engie looked at the couple, then at his dad, then at his chicken. He slowly lifted it from the table and turned the key.

It started to slowly lean forward, then took a few steps on it’s long, spring-loaded legs. The neck went down, and the chicken’s rusty beak began to scrape at the pavement.

Now he had the husband’s attention.

“Didja build that yourself, son, or did your daddy help ya?”

Engineer looked at his dad for a split second before answering.

“My own sweat ‘n blood, sir. My daddy says I should stop wastin’ time on ugly thing-a-ma-jigs an’ put my hands to somethin’ worth doin’.”

The man smiled. “Well, this ‘ugly thing-a-ma-jig’ shows real skill. We could use somebody like you, once we train you up a bit.”

“Now hold on a damn - !” his father interjected, but was silenced with a cold stare.

“We’ll put ya through a state-of-the-art school, then put ya straight inta the work force. You can build whatever you like…and you’ll have a lot better materials than rusty tin. Whaddaya say, son?”

Engineer just nodded, and the man grabbed his hand and shook it.

“We’ll keep in touch.”

Engineer left that trailer park at age seventeen, leaving his fuming father and drunken mother behind.

He only stopped to visit Rhapsody’s grave before embarking on his new life.

There is still a stone plate with a message carved into it next to the headstone. If you brush off the leaves and dig out the moss, you can see Engie’s parting words:

“A friendship with you and the rest of the gang is the greatest thing I ever built. -Big Dell”

#tf2 #tf2 fandom #tf2 ask blog #tf2 headcanon #tf2 headcanons #tf2 engineer #engineer tf2 #tf2 solly #send asks #ask blog #headcanon requests #lovely anon #thanks anon #thanks for the ask

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peralta-guaranteed · 3 years ago

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What abkut mafia!jake au

Stop giving me awesome AU ideas that I cannot write the fic for! 😭

- due to some really, really bad choices after high school (did he ever make other ones? who knows), Jake Peralta has ended up as a grunt for the Ianucci family. He doesn’t really do much - he’s mostly someone who gathers information and new areas for them to work in, because he’s good at randomly befriending people and milking them for all it’s worth. He’s done a few ‘deliveries’, too, but has never had to really get physical.

- (he was at one family meeting that turned into the ‘farewell’ of a mistrusted member and he still has nightmares about it)

- he’s never been arrested for anything and thought the police didn’t even know his name, so imagine his surprise when he’s approached by one of their higher-ups (as if he knows the rankings, psh, pigs are all the same) and subtly but definitely asked if he would be willing to work with them

- his task seems simple: bring one of their cops into the family undercover, the same way he has ‘recruited’ several bodega owners and other ‘low-skill’ workers that turned out to be useful for the family. Maybe keep an eye on the cop as well and help her out if she’s struggling

- she? oh yeah, it’s a woman. A frankly gorgeous woman, he realises when they meet up with her and some FBI dude who obviously pretends he’s not FBI, to discuss it all further. Her name is ‘Dora’, and he knows that’s a lie from the second she’s introduced, but the less he knows, probably the better. The rules are set, he gets a special cellphone number of a ‘cousin’ to contact if something goes wrong, and two weeks later Dora Perez is steadily working her way up the ranks with the Ianuccis, who are very proud of Jake for bringing in this brilliant new talent.

- He might or might not be looking out for her a little bit too much. He might or might not get involved in far more shady dealings with the Iannuccis so he can work closer with her. He might or might not be in deep, deep shit.

- ‘Dora’ is grateful for it, though, he learns every time he drives her home after a more difficult job. She used to be withdrawn and quiet with him, which he tried to equalise by cracking more and more stupid jokes and doing random silly stuff during their drives, but then one time they drive in absolute silence while she cleans blood of her hands, and he says something, he doesn’t remember what, but it’s the right thing apparently, because she starts to talk. She talks to him during every ride after, telling him about the stress and the constant guard she has to keep up and how none of her research binders prepared her for this, and at some point she tells him about nightmares and seeing death around every corner and she can’t wait for this mission to be over.

- (for her sake, he can’t wait for that either. For his sake, he wishes it would go on forever.)

- They’re sent out for a big job together once, because Jake has already become ‘connected’ to Amy in the Ianuccis’ eyes, and they both end up with blood on their hands, and some of it is hers.

- he gets out of the car after that drive home, and gets up to her tiny, fake apartment, and helps her clean the wounds (nothing too big, just cuts, because thank god that guy only had a knife before he beat it out of his hands and then beat the living daylight out of him after he injured her) with the softest fingers she’s ever felt. Then the cleaning alcohol is swapped for drinkable stuff, and they talk, and they talk about everything and nothing, about how a dead-beat dad and an absent mother make a Mafia goon, and how family pressure and a sense of constant duty make a detective who so badly wanted to say no to this assignment but couldn’t.

- “For what it’s worth, Dora, I’m glad you said yes. I mean, not that- not that I want you to do this kind of work- and I want things to be over for you soon, because- but- I’m glad it’s you.” “Amy.” “Hm?” “My name is Amy. Amy Santiago.”

- He wakes up in her bed the next morning, with her in his arms, and he kind of doesn’t regret a single thing, even as his smart-brain is screaming at him. He’s pretty sure he would’ve willingly died for her even before this night, but now, he realises... that he probably will.

- Amy (Amy, not Dora) does freak out a little more than he does when she wakes up. She can’t get involved, she says, this is a job, a dangerous one, and she has to focus on that job and getting the mafia gang and not- okay, okay, let’s not overthink this then, Jake says only to calm her down, we don’t do anything ‘involved’, we’re just... having fun. Keeping things light and breezy. Helping deal with the stress.

- and so, despite how much it hurts and how much it makes him happy at the same time, Jakey the Jew becomes Jakey, Dora’s Loverboy. It helps, he supposes, because it means the Ianuccis won’t suspect them hanging out so much, and send him along to most of her jobs now so he can watch out for her, and he gets to be with her in a way, even as she constantly reiterates ‘light and breezy’ to keep him at a distance no matter how close they get.

- it doesn’t feel very ‘light and breezy’ when they spend time together in front of the TV, though, to get their minds to relax after doing whatever the Ianuccis needed them doing. It doesn’t feel ‘light and breezy’ when they joke around in the bodega getting ice cream on a particularly hot day out doing jobs, or when she shows him around the library after meeting her ‘cousin’ there for a chat. It doesn’t feel ‘light and breezy’ at all when she sighs into his arms when he’s holding her in bed, neither of them even wanting to take the night any further than soft hands under tshirts, because all they really need at some point is the comfort of each other.

- and then one day, after a few months of this ‘light and breezy’ and ‘Dora’s Loverboy’, Jake gets invited for a ‘Talk’ by the family. With a capital T. And he’s not been that high up in the ranks at any point, and he’s not really done much for the family, but he’s not an idiot. He knows what that means. So of course he doesn’t tell Amy, writes her a short but succinct note instead that maybe ends with the L-word somewhere in it, and goes to have a Talk.

- The Ianuccis know that there is a rat, but they don’t know who. And they know that if Jakey is good for one thing, it’s information. So The Talk doesn’t end as quickly as it usually does, and the way he’d expected. It hurts a lot more, for one thing. Jake thinks of offering up some other goon or lower family member as the rat, if only to make the torture stop, but his brain is too broken in the moment to figure out a convincing story. And when the name ‘Perez’ suddenly drops into the conversation, there’s really only one other name he can still think of clearly to blame. Peralta.

- he doesn’t remember much after that - he’s pretty sure he heard gunshots, but none of them hit him, so what’s the deal with that? Everything else is pretty much a blur of pain and cold, and lots of shouting, and then warm soft hands on his face and a quiet voice saying his name amidst it all, and when he wakes up the next time he’s in a hospital bed.

- He’s in that hospital bed for two weeks to recover, and no one visits him. Not that it should be surprising - Nana is dead, his mom doesn’t know about anything he’s done since the age of 18 for a reason, and there’s no one else who in their right mind should care to visit him. So imagine his surprise when a detective shows up, introduces herself as Rosa Diaz, and explains that she’s Amy’s partner at work, but she’s not here for official business.

- “She wanted to come see you. Hell, she fought tooth and nail for it. But she had to be debriefed, stupid FBI assholes, and then it turned out two of the Ianuccis got away, so we had to find them first to make sure they don’t go after her for revenge” (well that explains the constant patrols in the hospital for him, as well) “and we had to hide her for her safety, but, Jake, she wanted to come see you. I swear.” “It’s okay.” Jake says, and it’s really not, but he’s been a brilliant liar for years now. “You can tell her... it’s okay. The job is done, and I’m, I’m glad she’s finally got it over and past her. Really. Tell her it’s okay.”

- He’s debriefed by the FBI after he gets discharged, as well. They tell him ‘good job’ and ‘thanks’ and pay him a surprisingly large amount of money and cover his hospital bills, so that’s good. They also advise that he move, not far, but far enough that any possible leftover scragglers of the family don’t remember his old place for a ‘visit’. So he moves, a few blocks only, enough to get a new favourite bodega and deli and discover that the library is actually nearby and that there’s this community college that Amy kept talking about for some reason, and if he takes a few classes to finally get a degree, it’s not about getting a proper job at some point, it’s more about not thinking about anything else. About maybe forgetting, even if it was her that basically got him where he is now.

- (it does not work)

- she knocks on his door a month later. She looks strange in her professional outfit instead of washed out jeans and a tanktop with a stupid slogan on it, but also so perfectly her. That’s Amy, he thinks, not Dora anymore. That’s Amy, and he still loves her just as much as he did when she was ‘Dora’ in his sweatpants and tshirt. Maybe more.

- “You’re a hard man to find, Peralta.” She says, and he knows that’s a lie, but she smiles with a scared look through it and he takes it for what it is - an attempt at saying anything, really, after 1 1/2 months of silence, when she’s probably got a speech all prepared in her head but needs to get there first. “That’s such a bad, cheesy movie line.” He helps, and she laughs and yeah, that’s all he needs in life. “Well we never watched any good movies, did we.” “Hey, we watched Die Hard. That’s the best movie there is.” She rolls her eyes but nods, and opens her mouth, and Jake thinks that the speech is coming now, but he has no idea what it might entail. Thank you and good bye, maybe. Good job, great work, can you sign this official statement for me so I can add it to my paperwork? possibly. “Screw light and breezy.” She says instead, and then she’s in his new apartment, which is much nicer and cleaner than the old place was even after she worked her magic on it, and she’s kissing him, and he’s never, ever letting her out.

#B99 #Brooklyn 99 #Peraltiago #Jake Peralta #Amy Santiago #headcanon? writing? I dunno anymore #Mafia AU

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lonestarbabe · 3 years ago

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Is TK suffering from borderline?

I've touched on this a little bit before, but since you asked, I'll give a little more of my thoughts on the matter.

But before I get into it, here's my overall takes on the matter. The rest will be under the cut.

TK has symptoms that align with borderline personality disorder, so the case could be made that he has it, but those symptoms can also be aligned with a lot of other mental health issues.

While I think it could be a good storyline if done right (because showing people with mental illnesses without making them villains or flat characters is something we always need more of), I don't trust the show to do it right and I don't think the show would ever explicitly label him as having BPD.

Regardless, the idea intrigues me, and a lot of canon events reflect this diagnosis. As I don't have psychological training, I'm not an expert on this by any means, so take what I say with a grain of salt. I’ll try to add links to resources to add some insight.

Excuse this long and winding rant and the lack of proofreading.

Throughout the first two seasons of 911: Lone Star, viewers watch TK struggle with mostly undefined mental health issues. Substance abuse issues are defined in canon, but potential depression and other mental health issues are left vague. However, the source content suggests that there is more going on with TK than is mentioned on screen or will ever be mentioned on screen, and Borderline Personality Disorder seems to match TK’s behaviors and thought processes. This essay is just one lens to view TK’s character, and there are many others that are equally interesting and valid. Of course, BPD symptoms can reflect symptoms of other conditions such as depression, PTSD, anxiety, or ADHD, and BPD is often comorbid with other conditions. Even so, it’s hard to deny the behavior patterns that TK tends to have and how they connect to BPD. Based on on TK’s emotional behaviors, mental health issues, and thought patterns, it can be argued that he shows at least the symptoms of BPD.

According to NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness, Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) “is a condition characterized by difficulties regulating emotions.” Being a personality disorder, a person with BPD has an inflexible pattern of thought and corresponding behaviors. The hallmarks of BPD include tumultuous relationships, intense emotions, trouble with self-regulation, impulsivity, and self-image and identity issues. Unfortunately, seventy percent of people with BPD will attempt suicide in their lives due to the intensity of their feels and feelings of emptiness that can often occur in those with this condition.

BPD is not an uncommon condition, but it is often misunderstood or stigmatized. Salters-Pedneault from verywellmind highlights that studies suggest that 1.6% of the population has BPD. Furthermore, although 75% of people who are diagnosed with this condition are women, some researchers believe that this discrepancy is due to misdiagnosis, and men with BPD may be diagnosed with conditions like PTSD or depression. Interestingly, diagnosis tends to be higher among those who are lesbian, gay, or bisexual due to diagnostic models that may not always give the proper results. Thus, even among professionals, diagnosis can be tricky and finding the true prevalence is a challenge.

In additional to diagnosis challenges, there is stigma among the public and the mental health treatment community. Research suggests that BPD is the condition that mental health professionals most often stigmatize. Some professionals won’t treat those with BPD and those who do, may not truly understand the nature of BPD. This stigma, unfortunately, reiterates the worries of abandonment and rejection that BPD sufferers face and cause them to think they cannot get help when BPD is actually highly treatable using techniques like DBT. Though, because it can greatly impact functionality, it is highly studied. Thus, for those wanting to learn more about it, there are resources available.

While the causes of BPD are not entirely known, TK’s childhood meets many of the environmental factors that are common in those with BPD. BPD is often associated to children not receiving the emotional validation they need. A review by Kulacaoglu and Kose discusses how BPD results in genetic, psychological, and neurobiological factors. Due to the increased prevalence in monozygotic twins, research suggests that people are predisposed to BPD and often develop it when they are in a non-supportive environment. An environment can be non-supportive in a wide range of ways, and Kulacaoglu and Kose suggest that childhood trauma is the most prevalent cause. The Optimum Performance Institute, which specializes in BPD treatment for young adults, cites PTSD, childhood abandonment, and unstable family relationships as some of the top environmental influencers for BPD. 9/11 and the resulting trauma, including his parents likely unstable and clearly dysfunctional relationship, could all be factors in the development of BPD. Additionally, in the season 1 finale, TK expresses that Owen left when TK was seven, and that’s a clear sense of abandonment, regardless of Owen’s intentions or reasonings.

T.K. also clearly fits many of the traits outlined by the DSM, which is used in the U.S. (and beyond) to diagnosis BPD. According to the DSM-V, One of the traits of those with BPD is “frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment,” relating to TK’s persistent worries about being abandoned or rejected. During 9/11, TK likely had very real fears that his father would die, which to a child often feels like abandonment, and then, despite Owen still being alive, he became more distant, which would have validated TK’s fears rather than easing them. Owen’s trauma kept him away from TK, and TK began to associate Owen’s firefighters as his real family, which likely influenced TK’s decision to be a firefighter because he was desperately trying to make himself part of Owen’s life. TK continues to act in ways to please Owen because he doesn’t want to lose the relationship he has with Owen.

There are a ton of concrete moments where we see TK acting in a way that’s clearly informed by his worry that someone will abandon or reject him. TK often pushes other people away before they can reject him or leave him. In S01E03, TK literally pushes Judd away from him in response to Judd’s angry reaction to TK’s reckless behavior in the silo: trauma meet trauma. Judd’s anger comes from a place of concern, but TK cannot see that because he can’t see past the worry of being unliked or judged. Or, even worse, Judd suggests that TK gets preferential treatment from his father. While TK certainly does get special treatment from his father, the implication is aggravating to TK because TK feels like Owen has always given preferential treatment to his firefighters, and Owen choosing the firehouse over his family is one of TK’s triggers.

Then, in S01E02, we see the disastrous almost-date between TK and Carlos. TK was devastated by his breakup with Alex and his relapse. He didn’t want anything serious with Carlos, not because he didn’t want deep connection but because he was afraid of the pain that of someone deciding he wasn’t worth it. When Carlos tried to make TK dinner, TK became uncomfortable, and when Carlos pulls out alcoholic beverages, that speaks even more poignantly to TK’s insecurities. His addiction likely fuels his fears of not being enough, which relate to his fears of abandonment. What this means is that it’s not uncommon for people with mental illnesses to think that they are broken or lesser because of those issues, and TK’s addiction is hard for him to open up about, especially at first.

TK’s relationship with Alex alone points to him going to extreme efforts to avoid abandonment. Owen hints that the relationship wasn’t at a place that was ready for marriage when TK suggests that he is going to propose in S01E01. Then, it turns out that Owen is cheating at TK, and the proposal doesn’t lead to a new chapter in TK’s relationship, but it is the end. Other people clearly suspected their were issues in the relationship, and it’s likely that TK proposed because he sensed the relationship slipping, and so he used a “grand gesture” to avoid losing Alex. Then, when TK knows the truth, it results in a relapse and him nearly dying, which could relate more the his fears of abandonment than the breakup itself.

Another DSM criterion is “a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized between extremes of idealization and devaluation.” This is a defensive mechanism to shield the BPD sufferer from hurt, but it can cause unstable relationships and relates to all or nothing thinking. There are no explicit moments of TK “splitting,” the term for when people with BPD change from idealization to devaluation or vice versa—going from admiration and love to anger and dislike. Yet, there are certainly moments when TK’s feelings about people are clearly driven by his fears. Idealization allows a person to feel less anxious because it “allows them to keep the fantasy of perfection intact.” Again, this is something that fits well with the Alex storyline. In S01E05, TK even calls Alex his soulmate, despite the fact that several indicators (not living together, Owen’s skepticism, etc.) suggest that they may not have been as serious or close as TK suggested. Even after everything that happened, TK still thought Alex was his soulmate.

When someone feels threatened, they may switch from seeing someone as all good to deeming the other person as bad because it’s easier to deal with someone’s rejection when that person is flawed without any good attributes. Throughout the series, when TK gets upset with someone, he often gets disproportionately upset, and he feels as though he is the problem without being able to see the pain of others. For example, after he has a fight with Judd, he reduces Judd to just his flaws. Similarly, to a lesser degree, after Nancy criticizes the changes TK has made to the ambulance, TK goes on a rant on how Nancy is wrong without being able to stop and think that Nancy’s reaction is more related to her grief than to do with TK’s core character. The same is true of Judd; Judd got upset because he already lost his crew, and he didn’t want to lose his new crew. In S02E04, TK doesn’t even like Carlos explain himself before his rage (and of course the underlying fears that cause rage) takes over. While before the incident with Carlos’ parents, TK was blissfully in love and admiring Carlos, after that moment, he says hurtful things to hurt Carlos,

On the same note, people with BPD often have a “favorite person,” and Owen could represent TK’s favorite person, at least in the beginning of the show. The favorite person does not always relate to the person the BPD sufferer loves most. Rather, it more closely relates to the most important person in someone’s life and the one who validates them. As Arzt and Troy of Choosing Therapy suggest, “The individual with BPD wants their favorite person’s attention as much as possible, and the quality of the relationship can undoubtedly shape their mood, confidence, and sense of security.” TK often puts Owen in the place of a hero.

TK idolizes Owen more than anyone else, and viewers often see him looking to Owen for a sense of direction. For example, in the season 1 finale, TK questions his role as a firefighter, which he later questions in season 2, and he goes to Owen for help. He expresses his feelings of abandonment, which is one of the core fears he has, and Owen responds by telling TK how many firefighters died on 9/11 and justifying his absence, and the conversation feels familiar, like Owen has shared that statistic every time this conversation has come up. The important part of this moment is that when Owen starts talking about 9/11, TK becomes quieter and more fidgety. He shuts down that line of thought, and he defers to Owen. It felt very much like a defense mechanism because TK knew that to keep his father’s affection, he had to repress his feelings and concerns.

Of course, TK’s silence cannot last forever, and we see him pulling away from Owen is season 2 and starting to acknowledge his dad’s flaws. In S02E04, after blowing up at Carlos, he sees his parents inability to communicate well with one another, and through the realization as their flaws, he can then go back to Carlos and be more understanding. Through personal growth, he’s been able to think less in extremes and moderate some of his fear-fueled thoughts. And after Owen makes that comment about being a father again, TK eventually decides to become a paramedic (a career change that the season 1 finale hinted at when he saved the woman from the bus with his medical skills). He’s in a much happier headspace in season 2, and part of that is because of his healthier relationships and also because he starts to detach himself from Owen and some of his idealization.

TK’s mood varies greatly in the show, which reflects his potential, “affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood.” TK can go from one intense emotion to another. People with BPD are often incredibly sensitive, and they feel like they are exposed nerves. Shari Y. Manning describes in her book, Loving Someone with Borderline Personality Disorder how “People with BPD have an exquisite vulnerability to emotions.” In many of the scenes and storylines listed, viewers see TK’s emotions shifting unexpectedly. People with BPD often react more extremely than average people would, both in their emotions and responses.

TK is prone to outbursts of anger and emotional intensity. When he’s been set off, he struggles to return to his baseline. As we see in S01E03, when TK is on a date with Carlos, he cannot stop talking about his grudge with Judd, even though TK already blew off his steam getting into his bar fight, got detained by the police, and had additional time between those moments. Most people would have cooled down, but TK still seems rageful. Judd seems stubborn as he expresses his concerns to Grace, but even he doesn’t still have the heat that TK does. Overall, TK’s emotions are more volatile and prone to fast changes than those of other characters. Sometimes, he’s nervously fidgeting. Sometimes, he’s angry and loudly picking fights. Sometimes, he’s depressed and quiet. He has a range of emotions that can shift without much notice.

An “inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger” is one of the symptoms that is most explicit in TK’s behavior. Clearly, this relates substantially to his emotional intensity and moodiness. Anger is certainly one of his default emotions, and when he’s hurt, it’s the part of him that comes out. The anger he has in S01E03 established his angry response several times in one episode. He gets into a shoving match with Judd and then starts another fight, but there are other examples of his anger. For instance, in S02E11, when Owen is arrested for being an arsonist due to a plan by him and Carlos’ dad, TK gest physical with Carlos and physically and verbally pushes him away. This physical response is not the marker of a healthy relationship or response to emotions. Of course, it’s important to note that it’s not right to assume that people with BPD will be violent or dangerous, but physical altercations can be a result of BPD, and they are in TK’s case.

People with BPD also experience an “identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self,” which TK no doubt experiences. For example, in the season 1 finale, he not only doesn’t know if he wants to still be a firefighter, but he doesn’t know if he wants to be in a relationship with Carlos. After nearly dying from a gunshot wound in S01E08, he struggles to figure out his place on the world, and this is basically the conversation he has with Zoe later, who is his dad’s vaguely girlfriend. He looked for an outside source, just trying to figure out what to do because a lot of his other relationships were complicated at that moment (his dad, Carlos). Of course, all this would be fairly normal with a near-death experience, but TK’s indecision and uncertainty seem to have deeper roots. When he wakes up from his coma, in many ways, he is waking up from a dissociative state, where he was going through the motions and trying to deal with the lingering pain. He was emerging from the gray of his life into the color, showing how his inability to know himself and what he wants leads to him feel deprived and even possible dissociative.

While there are no strong ties to TK having “transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms,” it can be argued that he has dissociative symptoms on at least some level. For example, the police station scene in S01E03 explains a lot about TK’s mental state. He expresses feeling numb, and that numbness can cause a person to feel disconnected to themselves, and often, TK doesn’t even know who he is or what he wants.

Throughout the first season especially but also into season 2, TK is lost because what he knew himself as— son to an infallible hero, boyfriend to Alex, firefighter, New Yorker— was all called into question. The first episode marks a transition. Even Owen’s cancer shakes the view that TK has of Owen as being a hero who always wins, rather than as a real human who is bound to die. That realization must shake his world because the cancer makes TK confront some of his fears, just as Buttercup represents TK’s fears of abandonment (due to death in this instance), and TK refuses to love Buttercup because he is afraid of loss, which correlates to how emotionally shut down he is in season 1 despite wanting to feel closer to others to fill his core needs. Thus, while dissociative symptoms are never mentioned, TK does experience detachment as a coping mechanism because if he can distance himself from everyone and everything that might give him joy, he can never feel pain.

TK also experiences, “recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behaviors.” For example, the fight he gets into at the bar in S01E03 could count as self-harm because the set-up of the fight makes it pretty clear that a fight was exactly what TK intended when he walked into the bar, and really, going to a bar at all was self-destructive because no matter what behavior TK chose to do (fighting, drinking, or even in certain instance trying to find a guy to have sex with) could count as not just reckless but destructive. He was in no state of mind do act in a healthy way. He was intentionally trying to hurt, trying to feel something. Accordingly, the self-harming behaviors seem fitting.

Beyond the self-harm, we have potential suicidal thoughts and actions. When Owen asks TK in the pilot if he was trying to kill himself after his overdose, there was a beat too long between the answer, and TK’s expression shifted noticeably. This moment could suggest that despite TK’s answer of “No,” that he may have had some suicidal intentions, even if they were just, “I’ll take these pills and leave it to fate if I live or die.” Furthermore, because Owen thought to ask, there may have been signs that indicated intentional overdose, or TK may have had a history that supported that conclusion. We also know that Ronen Rubenstein played TK as suicidal as he mentioned in his Pop Cultarish interview, which suggests that was his intention for the scene and possibly the director’s/writer’s intentions. In any case, TK’s behaviors are concerning and do point to at least thoughts of suicide.

TK also tends to, “impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging.” The clearest area of TK’s impulsivity is his addiction, but he is also impulsive in other ways. For example, when he picks the fight with Judd after the grain silo and then goes to a bar to pick another fight in S01E03, which is an episode that highlights a lot of TK’s mental illness. Often, when TK is impulsive, he does so in a way that could get him hurt, and sometimes, he does to promote hurt.

The impulsive behavior associated most with TK is his substance use. Addiction and substance abuse are often comorbid with BPD, which research has long shown. This updated 2018 review by Trull et al. uses over 100 studies on the association between substance use disorders and BPD. Across the studies reviewed, the researchers determined that 57.4% of people with BPD had substance use disorders as well. Furthermore, the American Addiction Centers suggests that, in one survey, among people who requested buprenorphine to treat opioid addiction, 40% also had BPD. Furthermore, 50% of BPD patients experienced prescription drug abuse. While substance abuse can certainly occur without BPD, in conjunction with other BPD symptoms, it is telling.

The show implicitly links TK’s addiction, self-harming, and reckless behaviors with the anger and emptiness he feels. People with BPD commonly experience feelings of “chronic emptiness.” In S01E03, after TK’s bar fight, he confesses to Carlos that he wanted to feel something, and ever since he arrived in Texas, he felt gray and numb. While these symptoms can relate to depression, they can also relate to the emptiness characteristic of BPD, as a result of other common BPD issues, such as a lack of a sense of an identity, feelings of unworthiness, loss of direction, feeling misunderstood, or wanting but failing to have meaningful relationships. TK wants to feel, but he also has defensive mechanisms that numb him from his feelings because his feelings are often so intense.

TK acts outwardly in fights, and when he’s fighting, he puts on a tough act, not showing anyone the intense feelings happening within, but there’s a lot more going on inside of him. He also directs that anger inward and does things he know will hurt himself. After his fight with Judd, he’s emotionally spiraling, and the viewers see this as he goes to a bar fittingly named The Trap. While he may be tempted to drink alcohol, he doesn’t give into that urge and chooses mineral water; instead, he picks a fight with two guys, acting smug and unbreakable. Moments later, he is sat in front of Carlos, any semblance of the arrogance and confidence he has in his fights is gone.

While the symptoms could be interpreted in other ways that don’t reflect BPD, many of the symptoms fit TK too well to be a coincidence, while the others can be applied with certain interpretive lenses. Thus, it’s clear to me that TK has BPD symptoms, which doesn’t mean that he has BPD, but many of his thought patterns do have an uncanny likeness to those with BPD, and ultimately, BPD shows itself in a myriad of ways. Some experts have grouped the condition into four groups to more clearly define the way the condition can present itself. The point is that BPD, like any other condition, doesn’t have a one size fit all explanation or set of symptoms. Whether TK has BPD or not, his thoughts and behaviors are frequently a result of his mental illness, and he shows the reality for many people with various types of mental illness.

#asks #911 lone star #meta #911 lone star meta #tk talk #mi talk #lp #lone star meta #i talk too much

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years ago

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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 29: Butterly

Chapter 28

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The rest of August flew by. The power was restored a little over a week after the storm had initially hit, and getting Faith back into her normal routine (sleeping in her own bed, brushing teeth in the bathroom) was a bit of a struggle. Dismantling the fort had been a feat as well; Faith was not at all happy about it. Claire would absolutely not sleep on the floor, but she couldn’t bring herself to force Faith to sleep alone with no nightlight or option to turn the lights on, so she’d been allowed to sleep with Mummy until the power was restored.

September was upon them, and with it, the terror of a day that Claire had been anticipating with dread and excitement for months.

On September ninth, Faith was going to school.

In the middle of August, Claire had rearranged her work schedule to be able to take her to the orientation, tethered to Angus. They’d been picked up by the bus together so that Faith could practice with a school bus. The orientation leader had been extremely kind and helpful, showing them the whole school before they got to the special education room. It was a different district than the one they lived in, but Mrs. Lickett (and Claire’s research) had told her that this was the best program for Faith’s specific needs. The classroom was smaller than the others, but her class was only eight children altogether. Claire had heard horror stories of special needs children in a classroom that was essentially a glorified closet, no windows, no color in the room. So when the room they entered was nothing short of the most adorable, sunshine-y kindergarten classroom she’d ever seen, Claire could have cried with relief.

Each child’s individual aid was waiting in the classroom, including Carole, Faith’s aid. She’d been told about Angus and what he was specifically meant to help with in terms of Faith’s behavior and education. He’d responded well to a few experimental commands from Carole, and Faith seemed to like her well enough. Miss O’Reilly was the teacher’s name, and she gave a small sample lesson to demonstrate for the parents, and for the children to practice. Claire hung in the back of the room with the other parents, who all looked equally as terrified as she was.

Watching Faith at her little desk, her aid pointing to her pencil and paper, whispering in her ear to encourage her participation, was overwhelming. She was squirming a bit, turning around occasionally to reach for Claire. Angus was dutiful, however, nudging her, applying pressure in her lap with his head to bring her back, to calm her down.

She can do it. They can do it. Together.

Claire took the day off for Faith’s first day; she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus on a damn thing at work, and she didn’t feel like being responsible for people’s lives while her mind was otherwise occupied. Jamie insisted on taking the day off as well, on being there to see her off on the bus, and then staying with Claire like her own emotional support animal. She’d insisted he didn’t need to, though it was a rather weak insistence, because she knew deep down she needed him.

He had arrived promptly at seven o’clock, being that Faith’s bus was to arrive at eight-fifteen. He seemed surprised to find her fully dressed already, full-well knowing by now that his girlfriend was not a morning person. He’d apparently expected her to be in her pajamas.

“I hardly slept last night,” she admitted, standing aside to let him in. “I finally gave up around five, got dressed around six.”

He smiled with sympathy and gently pulled her in for a brief kiss. “I didna sleep much at all either.” He pulled her in for a comforting embrace, and his heartbeat in her ear did wonders for her nerves, if only temporarily. She felt his breath on the top of her head, and he pressed another kiss there.

“She nervous at all?” he asked.

“I don’t know, it’s hard to tell. I’m not sure she realizes that I won’t be going with her this time.” The thought sent her stomach turning again, filled with dread over Faith’s heart-crushing realization that Mummy was sending her away.

“Aye, suppose we’ll find out.” He pulled away to offer her another smile, and she craned her neck to kiss him again. “Here.” He produced a paper bag from behind his back, and Claire started, not even having realized he’d been holding something the whole time. “Picked ye up a wee treat fer breakfast. Ye deserve something better today than those crumbly chunks of oat ye call a meal.”

Her eyes smoldering with affection, she took the bag and peeked inside. “Granola bars are quite good for you. Fiber and protein are important.”

“Perhaps. But so are taste buds.”

She rolled her eyes as she shuffled away, depositing the bag on the kitchen counter. “I’ll eat it later. Could you get her cereal ready while I wake her up?”

“Aye, certainly.”

They brushed past each other in the doorway of the kitchen, and Claire entered Faith’s bedroom, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Angus, come,” she said lightly, and the previously sleeping dog sprang up from his spot beside Faith, trotting next to Claire. She sat down on the edge of Faith’s bed and began stroking her head. “Faith, darling. Time to wake up.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and Claire was greeted with a sweet, absent smile.

“There she is! Good morning, lovie.” Faith sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Do you know what today is? It’s the first day of school! Yay!” She signed applause, and Faith copied lazily, her hands apparently not totally awake yet. “It’s time to get up and get dressed. Do you want to look pretty for school, Faithie?”

Faith nodded excitedly, giving a little hum.

“That’s right. Up we get now, come on.” Claire stood up and went to the dresser, picking up the blue dress she already had lain out. “Look at your pretty dress, baby. You’re going to look so pretty. Yes?”

She gave an excited little hop, and she raised her arms up, indicating she was ready for Claire to pull her pajama shirt off. Claire chuckled and obliged her, talking to her gently as she got her dressed. Claire insisted she give her a twirl when the dress was on, and Faith was more than happy to do so. Dressed and twirled, Claire loosely pulled half of her wild curls up, then clipped the tartan hair bow at the base of the ponytail.

“There. Pretty dress, and Merida bow. You’re all ready.”

Faith hummed loudly, jiggling her hands, and she followed Claire into the living room, trailed closely by Angus.

“Look who’s here, Faith! Special for you on your first day of school!” They entered the kitchen, and Faith practically launched herself at Jamie, throwing her arms around his legs right where he stood at the counter.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, my braw wee lass!” He cupped the top of her head, and looked up at Claire as his fingers brushed the hair bow. “Ye’re a proper wee Scot today, aye? Wearing the hair bow I gave ye?” He pointed at the bow, and Faith giggled.

“It’s her favorite. Of course she had to wear it for such a big day.”

Brimming with affection, Jamie crossed the room, swinging Faith as she clung to his leg, and pressed a sweet kiss on Claire’s lips. Claire giggled into the kiss, the silly image of him wearing her daughter on his leg impossible to ignore.

“Alright, little monkey. Let Jamie go, please. Time for breakfast. Angus first.”

Faith obeyed, marching over to Angus’s bag of food and dumping the scoopful into his bowl, and Jamie handed her the pre-measured cup of water for her to pour into his water bowl.

“Good girl,” Claire said warmly as Angus already began digging in. “Your turn.”

A bowl of Cheerios was already waiting on the table, and Jamie hurried to pour the milk in. “Didna want it to get soggy while it waited fer her.”

Claire’s heart felt fit to burst for the fifth time that morning. Before Faith had interrupted, Jamie had been cutting up an apple at the counter, and he finished up before putting the plate next to Faith’s cheerios.

Having finished his breakfast in a matter of seconds, as usual, Angus was free for Jamie to pet and coddle while Claire carefully arranged Faith’s lunch and snack in her Frozen lunchbox.

“See, Faith?” Claire said. “Lunch is all ready to go.”

Faith looked up from her cereal to give a thumbs up.

On the way home from orientation, as a reward for being a good girl, Claire had stopped at Target and let Faith choose any lunchbox and backpack she wanted, along with a few folders and fun pencils. They were all Disney, of course, mostly Frozen dominated.

“These are for school, lovie. All of your favorites are going to help you be a big girl in school, yes?” Claire had said while Faith filled the shopping cart. Faith had simply hummed contentedly, smiling dreamily.

Claire checked said backpack about eight times before Faith finished her breakfast, and she heard Jamie coaxing her to drink the milk leftover in her cereal bowl.

“To make yer wee bones grow big and strong, a leannan.”

She re-entered the kitchen to see him popping an apple slice in his mouth, making an absurd face, and Faith squealed, shaking her head.

“If ye dinna want me to steal every slice, ye’d better hurry.” He picked up another slice, and Faith tried to grab it, but he stealthily dodged her and popped it in his mouth. She squealed with laughter again, and then countered by popping a slice in her own mouth.

“Och, I wanted that one.” Jamie leaned back with contrived exasperation, crossing his arms. Faith giggled incessantly, and Claire had to bite her lip.

“Ridiculous human being,” she said, shaking her head.

“Can Mummy have any apples d’ye think?”

Faith squealed and adamantly shook her head, curls flying wildly.

“Oh, I can’t?” Claire challenged, crossing the room to join them at the table. She swiped a slice off the plate and popped it in her mouth, and Faith shrieked. “You heard him. You’d better hurry before we finish them.”

Faith ate another slice, looking back and forth between the adults like a little conspirator. They carried on like this, Jamie and Claire bringing slices to their open mouths, but then depositing them into Faith’s instead.

Eight o’clock came much too soon, and Claire cleaned up in the kitchen while Jamie led Faith into the living room. When Claire joined them, Jamie was giving her a quiet pep-talk while tying her shoes, her pink princess sneakers that didn’t at all match what she was wearing, but that she insisted on wearing no matter what.

Claire picked up her backpack when Jamie finished, not wanting to interrupt. “Alright, lovie. Ready?”

Faith nodded, extending her arms and allowing Claire to put the straps over her shoulders.

“There you go. All ready for school.”

“No’ quite,” Jamie said, reaching behind him into his back pocket. “I’ve got something special, Faith. Since ye’re such a big girl now, going to school and all.” He produced a tiny plush brown horse, attached to a little hook. “It’s a keychain, fer yer princess backpack.” Faith smiled, reaching out to hold it. “It’s a wee Pippi. See? She’s even got the white spot.” Struck by the familiarity, Faith stroked the white snout gently.

“Aye, very good, lass.” Jamie smiled widely. “Since ye canna take yer noble steed to school, or Horsie, I figure this’ll have to do.” He gently pried it from her hands to clip it to a loop on the backpack strap where she could reach it. “I’m very, very proud of you, Faith. When ye miss yer mam, I want ye to give wee Pippi a squeeze. Alright?”

They exchanged a thumbs up, and Claire almost burst into tears.

“I’m very proud of you too, baby.” Claire joined them, kneeling beside Jamie in front of her. “You’re such a big girl now.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Are you a big girl? Big girl, Faith?” Claire signed big girl, and Faith bounced with excitement, signing big.

“Yes, good girl.”

They spent the last few minutes before the bus arrived trying to coax her to uncover her face long enough to get a picture of her first day of school outfit. Claire and Jamie took turns being in the pictures, and Jamie even insisted on getting a selfie so they could all (Angus included) get into one picture.

There was suddenly a honk from outside, and Claire’s stomach lurched. She looked up at Jamie with terror, and he gave her hand a squeeze.

“Angus, come,” Jamie called, and he made quick work of getting him vested, leashed, and tethered to Faith.

Claire stood up and opened the front door, waving to the bus driver. She turned back to see dog and child ready to go, Jamie holding her hand.

He looked just as terrified as she felt.

Together, the four of them made their way down the steps to meet the bus, and they stopped a few feet away from the curb.

“Okay, baby. There’s the bus.” Claire said, kneeling in front of her on the concrete. “Are you ready?”

Are you ready, Beauchamp?

“It’s only for a few hours,” Claire said, perhaps more for herself than for Faith. “And then you’ll be home again with Mummy. Yes?”

“Ye’re gonnae have lots of fun, Faith. Show Angus to all yer new friends, learn sae much,” Jamie chimed in.

She was not humming, but her hand was jiggling at her side, and Jamie grasped it.

“It’s alright, mo chridhe.” He pressed a kiss to her little knuckles. “It’s alright.”

Claire bit down fiercely on her lip. No tears until she’s gone.

“I love you, baby.” Claire held up the sign, forcing a tiny smile. “I love you.”

Faith returned the sign, touching her thumb, finger, and pinky to Claire’s as their foreheads rested together. They held the sign and their embrace for several lingering seconds, until the constant chugging of the bus’s engine reminded Claire that time was still passing.

“Alright. Hugs.” Claire pulled her in for a quick hug, fervently kissing the top of her head.

“A hug fer me too, lass?” Jamie said tentatively, and Faith did not hesitate. He pulled her in and kissed her head as Claire had, offering her a wide grin when they pulled apart.

“Alright. It’s time now, baby.” Claire and Jamie stood up, each taking one of her hands and leading her to the bus. Carole was waiting at the top of the steps, smiling kindly.

“Hi, Faith,” she greeted warmly.

“Hold onto the railing, now,” Jamie said quickly, releasing the hand he was holding so Faith could grasp the metal railing.

Claire had to force herself to let go of Faith’s other hand, her heart stinging as Carole took it instead. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, stopping Carole from pulling her into a seat. Faith turned around, and Claire thought she was going to faint. Jamie seemed to read her mind, and he desperately grasped her hand, squeezing like his life depended on it.

Faith looked like she may cry, and her hand was jiggling in a way that both of them knew was not happy.

Angus pressed the top of his head into Faith’s side, and she laced her fingers in his fur, ceasing her jiggling.

“It’s okay, baby,” Claire choked out. “It’s okay.”

Angus stayed rooted in place, waiting patiently for the panic to pass, and Carole looked back and forth between girl and dog, and the anxious couple.

“Ready, Faith?” Carole gave her a thumbs up, and Faith turned away from Jamie and Claire to look up at her. “Ready?”

Faith returned the thumbs up, removing her hand from Angus.

“Okay. Let’s go sit.”

The doors to the bus closed, and Jamie and Claire staggered back, clinging desperately to one another. The bus lingered for several more seconds, and Faith soon appeared in one of the windows, or rather, her eyes and forehead did. Carole was talking to her, waving through the window, and Faith started waving, too. Claire and Jamie waved wildly with their free hands, and then the bus was pulling away, and Claire felt a piece of her heart leaving with it.

As soon as the bus was out of sight, Jamie crushed her to him, and she finally released the sob she’d been holding back.

“It’s alright, mo nighean donn,” he crooned into the top of her head, rocking her gently. “That was the worst part. Dinna fash, now. She did it.”

Claire wept quietly into his shirt, not caring if any one of her neighbors decided to peek out their window and see them on the curb. She felt his tears in her hair despite his calming words, and she held him tighter.

He was right; the worst part was over. She’d imagined so many different scenarios that ended either with Faith bolting off the bus, or with Claire dragging her down herself. She’d imagined Faith screaming her head off, red in the face with tears, inconsolable even by Angus.

But that hadn’t been the case.

“What if…what if she’s crying now? Just after we couldn’t see her anymore…?”

“She has Angus. He’s quite good at his job, ye ken.”

“I know, but she…” Claire couldn’t put words to her exact fear. “What if she’s not ready? What if I’ve just thrown her to the wolves…?”

“Ye’ve done all ye can to prepare her. Ye got her excited wi’ her supplies, ye trained her dog fer this moment fer months. If she canna handle it after all that, it’s no’ yer fault.” He kissed her head, and she felt its warmth reach her outermost extremities. “If it doesna work out this year, she’ll be all the more prepared next year. Mrs. Lickett said it’s alright if she’s no’ ready ’til next year.”

Claire nodded against his chest, sniffling loudly.

“Carole said she’d call if there was a problem on the bus. So there’s no need to worry, aye?” He pushed her away just enough to look into her eyes, and she nodded. He kissed her gently, brushing away her tears as he did. “Let’s go inside. Ye’ve got quite a tasty muffin waiting fer ye in the kitchen, if ye recall.”

She forced a tiny smile, hiccuping a bit. “I hope I don’t vomit it up.”

“If ye do, I’ll hold yer hair and rub yer back.” He put his arm around her shoulders and led her up the stairs. “Then I’ll get ye some saltines and ginger ale and take care of ye.”

She sighed and leaned into him. “I don’t deserve you.”

He scoffed. “Ye deserve to be taken care of, ye stubborn fool.”

She couldn’t help but smile as they entered the apartment, Jamie shutting the door behind them. “Thank you. For being here today. I think it helped ease her mind. And I…” She swallowed, catching her breath. “I really needed you.”

“Aye. I ken ye did.” He kissed her soundly again. “Come on, now. No more weeping. Breakfast time.”

——

Jamie did his best to distract Claire; it really was a valiant effort. They tried sex, but when he could see that her mind was elsewhere, he stopped, not wanting to force it when she wasn’t fully with him. Admittedly, even Jamie was struggling with that particular activity today. And he’d never had that problem before.

They settled on watching mindless television, but it didn’t do much for either of their nerves. He could feel Claire’s pulse going far too fast against his body, and Jamie’s fingers continued tapping anxiously on his thigh, his leg jiggling.

They were on perhaps their tenth episode of The Office, the sandwiches Jamie had made and tried to force Claire — and himself — to eat sitting untouched when Claire’s phone rang.

He swore Claire might have been having a stroke given the way she completely stiffened in her seat. She scrambled for the phone, resting idly on the coffee table.

“It’s the school,” she stammered, simultaneous with accepting the call. “Hello?”

Jamie’s stomach lurched, and he was grateful Claire put the phone on speaker.

“Hi, is this Miss Beauchamp?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, this is Miss O’Reilly, Faith’s teacher.”

“Yes, hello,” Claire said impatiently. “Is she alright? What’s happened?”

“Everything is okay, don’t worry. I’ve got Faith here with me. She keeps signing ‘mom,’ and she got more and more distressed every time, so we thought we should call you so she could hear your voice.”

Claire flashed a heartbreaking, guilt-ridden look up at Jamie. “Yes, give her the phone. Thank you.”

In a few seconds, the sound of sniffling came through the receiver, and Jamie instinctively grabbed Claire’s hand, squeezing for dear life.

“Faith? Hi, baby, it’s Mummy.”

Claire’s voice was wavering.

“It’s okay, lovie. I’m here. Jamie is here, too.”

“Hello, Faith,” Jamie chimed in. “It’s great to talk to ye.”

“I know you miss us, we miss you too,” Claire said carefully. “Don’t cry anymore, baby. It’s okay. You’re going to be home so, so soon. And then you get Oreos, remember? And a sticker.”

Mrs. Lickett and Claire had worked to put together a system where every day she went to and from school without a problem, she got a sticker on the sticker chart. She would earn little prizes for every filled row, and then, once the whole chart was full, she earned a big prize.

“I know you can do it,” Claire continued. “You’re such a big girl.”

“Aye, Faith, we’re verra proud of you.”

“That’s right,” Claire said. “I love you so much, baby. I’m doing the sign. Can you do it?” She paused for a bit. “I love you. Can you please give the phone to Miss O’Reilly?”

“Okay, thank you Faith.”

“How is she? Did that help?”

“I think it did. Now, just so you know, she did wet herself at her desk. And I know you said that she hasn’t really had bathroom issues in a while, so I assume it was just the stress.”

Claire’s grip tightened painfully on Jamie’s hand.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think she’d…”

“It’s okay. It happens to someone on the first day every year. It usually doesn’t happen more than one more time. She’s wearing the clean clothes you packed with her.”

“Ehm, okay,” Claire stammered. “Thank you so much.”

“Okay, I’ll call you again later to let you know how she did with the rest of the day.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“Bye-bye now.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead, and the phone collapsed in Claire’s lap as she buried her face in her hands. Jamie hung up the call to stop the ringing, and he pressed her against his chest.

“It’s alright, mo ghraidh.”

“No, it’s not…” she muttered tearfully against his chest. “I can’t do this, Jamie, I can’t. I’m going to go pick her up.”

“Hey.” Jamie tightened his grip on her, physically restraining her from getting up. “Ye’re no’ gonnae do that.”

“She hasn’t wet herself in nearly a year! Something is wrong! You could hear her crying. I have to go.”

She was nearing hysterics. Jamie pushed her away just enough to look in her eyes.

“Claire.” His voice was firm, tightly holding her shoulders. “Miss O’Reilly said she calmed down. What reason would she have to lie to ye?”

“She could’ve started right back in again once we hung up.”

“If you go get her now, she’ll never learn. She’ll think that if she pitches a fit that Mummy will come get her, and she can get out of school, or anything else. She needs to learn.”

He could tell how badly Claire wanted to look away, but she held his gaze. She welled up with fresh tears, and Jamie watched them trickle down her cheeks. Her chin trembled, and he, like the hypocrite he was, very nearly gave into her just to stop her from crying.

“You’re right,” Claire rasped, swallowing thickly. “I hate it…but you’re right.”

Jamie loosened his grip and moved his hands up to cup her cheeks. “It might be a long learning curve, but she will learn. She’s ready for school, I ken she is. She just doesna ken it herself yet. And ye canna give in before she has the chance to figure that out. She needs ye to give her this chance, Sassenach.”

Claire nodded, inhaling with a shuddering gasp. “I know.”

He tenderly kissed her forehead, letting it linger. “She’s a strong wee thing. And she gets it from her mother,” he said with pointed emphasis. “If she can do it, so can you.”

Claire nodded, swallowing again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Sassenach.”

——

A bit after 3:30, the bus pulled up in front of the driveway, and both Jamie and Claire raced down the stairs. The doors to the bus opened, and Faith and Angus descended the stairs, Faith letting go of Carole’s hand to launch herself into Claire’s arms.

“Oh! Hello, darling!”

Jamie untethered her from Angus and commanded him to go upstairs and inside. Faith properly wrapped her legs around Claire’s waist, and she hoisted the girl up higher. Carole smiled sweetly down from the top of the stairs.

“How was she on the bus?” Claire called up.

“Fine, much more excited on the way back.”

The three adults shared a laugh.

“Oh, I bet,” Claire said, more to Faith then Carole. She fervently kissed her temple. “Thank you so much. I’ll be here tomorrow in the morning with her caretaker, and she’ll be getting her off without me.”

“Gotcha,” Carole said. The bus driver nodded as well.

“Okay, thank you, have a good day,” Claire said, waving. “Say bye-bye,” she crooned to Faith.

“Bye, thanks,” Jamie said, waving as well. Claire held Faith’s hand and waved with her, and the bus rolled away.

“Okay, time for Oreos!” Claire said.

“Aye, Oreos fer our big girl.” Jamie took Faith, knowing that Claire would have a hard time walking up the stairs with her. She was getting bigger every day.

They all sat at the kitchen table, Faith with her Oreos on her napkin, scraping the icing off with her teeth, Jamie and Claire watching her like she hung the stars, hands laced together.

Jamie gave her hand a squeeze, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “She did it.”

Claire nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. “We did it,” she corrected.

Jamie’s answer was a fervent kiss to the crown of her head.

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piratewithvigor · 3 years ago

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Eldritch Horrors Anonymous: A Wrestler Fic

Dr. Shelby's led plenty of support groups before and helped plenty of people in them. But these people aren't exactly people...

(I spent the last two days binging matches and assorted other videos to try and get the characterizations right, so let's see how this goes)

Plenty of bad crack below

When Dr. Shelby had been approached with the idea of running this group, he’d been… unsure. Possibly even apprehensive. He’d led groups for violent individuals before; anger management was the most memorable, but the coordinator nearly begged him to start this one. She’d had some of these individuals in other groups, but none of their problems truly seemed to stem from the focus of the groups they tried. They had a unique problem. A unique struggle that needed support from others just like them.

It was the night of the first meeting and he wasn’t quite sure what the outcome might be. The community center had been advertising it for the last few weeks and he’d heard about some interested parties, but the exact number was a little unsure. He’d been told a ‘handful’, which wasn’t frustrating as an imprecise number until it came time to set up the chairs in the room. Six seemed like a good number. A couple, but not too many. Colder drinks were set out on a table along the edge of the room. Nothing too hot. A lot of those coming had problems with heat. As well as with machinery. Some of them had habits with… well, with making it explode.

God, he hoped nothing exploded during this meeting.

The flyer stapled to the bulletin board said the meeting started at 6 and it was 5:55 when Dr. Shelby sat down in his chair opposite the semi-circle. The noticeably empty semi-circle. A part of him was disheartened that the room was empty, but a much more selfish part was deeply relieved. He’d spent a few days reading articles about these individuals and how best to help them. Unfortunately, not much research had been done besides describing the pain they inflicted in such gruesome detail that Dr. Shelby had felt the need to make himself a cup of tea.

But those were laboratory settings. This was a friendly support group. No one was being forced to be there, or even being paid. They were coming because they wanted to.

By 6:03, he was tempted to just start packing up. Maybe no one was coming. Maybe the group was a bad idea in the first place. He’d been told to wait until 6:05 for people to arrive, but even just two more minutes seemed like too many to just sit there.

He was shaken from his thoughts by the large metal door on the other side of the room creaking open slowly. A hand gloved in black leather wrapped around and Dr. Shelby tensed for a moment until the owner of the hand appeared. A pleasantly-dressed gentleman in a neat sweater, a short beard and his hair pulled back looked around the room before spotting Dr. Shelby and seeming to relax.

“Excuse me, is this Eldritch Horrors Anonymous?” He asked, smiling warmly.

“Uh, it’s supposed to be,” Dr. Shelby nodded. If anyone had shown up, he wanted to add, but bit his tongue back.

The man’s smile widened and he turned back from the room to call over his shoulder. “Found it, guys! We’re supposed to be in here!”

Guys? There were more?

Maybe the night wouldn’t be such a bust after all.

The man stepped inside the room and pulled open the door politely. Dr. Shelby couldn’t see the people until they entered, but it didn’t truly matter; no amount of time could have prepared him for the group joining him.

The first one to nearly skip through the door looked like a child at first glance. Definitely not an eldritch horror. She wasn’t much taller than one and with her long blonde hair pulled into pigtails and a doll clutched to her chest, she looked even more like one. She paused long enough to thank the man holding open the door before taking a seat in the middle chair of the semi-circle, directly across from Dr. Shelby. It wasn’t until she was fully seated that he got a proper look at her face. Her strikingly icy eyes were surrounded by thick black rings and every time the hairs in front of her face moved, Dr. Shelby swore he saw black liquid dripping from her scalp. The chill that went down his spine was either negated or enhanced by her wide, jubilant grin. He wasn’t sure which.

The man who sat beside her also seemed confusingly normal at first glance. A plain black t-shirt and leather jacket. Perhaps a little more… edgy than Dr. Shelby would have preferred to dress, but he seemed like an equally charming young man.

Unfortunately, a pattern of three seemingly normal people did not necessarily mean the group would be.

The next one to enter the room had to quite literally duck to pass through the door. Dr. Shelby guessed him to be seven feet tall, give or take a few inches. He was wearing a black suit that covered most of his body, save for his face, which had its own covering of a deep red mask. He didn’t smile like the others had so far. Not even a polite half-smile of acknowledgment. Just sat down in one of the chairs that looked like it might prove to be a little too small.

Dr. Shelby had been so focused on keeping his expression steady while watching the masked member of the group that he hadn’t noticed one final member sneak in through the door and sit on the other side of the circle. He had an oversized alarm clock clutched in one hand, a paper bag in the other and a steady, intense smile in Dr. Shelby’s direction. Though his face was just as covered in red, he seemed to be the exact opposite of the stoic masked member.

“I think that’s everyone,” the man holding the door declared, taking one last glance down the hall before starting to let it go. He was intercepted by a gloved hand pushing back against the door.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” A final member slid in, face covered in white and black paint and a long leather coat stretching to his ankles. “All the hallways here look the same.”

“We had that problem too,” the man holding open the door nodded. “Kept walking around in circles trying to find the room. And it didn’t get much easier after the flyer got a hole burnt through it right where the room number was listed.”

“I said I was sorry,” the masked member grumbled.

Oh God, he burnt things unintentionally?

“Don’t worry about it, you’re all on time,” Dr. Shelby interjected, hoping to avoid any conflict between the members before the meeting had even technically started.

The final two men took their seats. Six? Not a bad turnout. Might as well get started.

“Welcome everyone, my name is Dr. Shelby.” A collection of polite nods came his way. “Now, you’re all here because you face the same struggle every day and you wanted to meet people like you. Am I right so far?” Everyone nodded again. “Good. I’ve led a lot of support groups just like these and almost everyone in them has felt major improvements knowing that they have a safe place to share their feelings every week. Why don’t we go around the circle and introduce ourselves and share what brings us here?”

It was always a risky move. Especially with brand-new groups. Some of them were bound to be a little more shy or wouldn’t really want to participate until they felt more comfortable with the other members. Dr. Shelby hoped there would at least be one outgoing one amongst them.

Dr. Shelby knew he wasn’t masking his fear very well. He’d perfected the perpetual smile; it was necessary when leading support groups, but he couldn’t always control his eyes.

The group all looked amongst themselves before the man in the sweater held up his hand.

“I can get the ball rolling,” he smiled, standing up. “My name is Bray and for the last few months, my body gets periodically taken over by my dark half named The Fiend, an entity whose sole objective is to cause as much pain and suffering to those around him as physically possible.”

“Thank you, Bray,” he tried to say with as even a voice as possible. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go,” the girl smiled, standing up with a flounce. “My name’s Alexa and this is Lilly.” She spun the doll around to reveal the most grotesque face Dr. Shelby had ever seen. He wasn’t certain from across the circle, but it looked like the teeth sewn into the mouth were real. “The Fiend showed me the way into the darkness, and Lilly took it from there.”

This is normal for them. It’s not going to help anyone here if you start looking like you’re scared.

But darn, is that doll ever creepy.

The man with the red face paint stood up next.

“I’m the Boogeyman!” He grinned with wide eyes, looking around at each member of the circle erratically. It was only as he began to move around that Dr. Shelby noticed the paper bag he was clutching seemed to be dripping some kind of dark liquid.

“Thank you for introducing yourself… Boogeyman. If it’s not too personal, do you mind if I ask what’s in your bag there?”

“Worms.”

“Worms?”

Boogeyman unrolled the bag and pulled out a handful of dirt-covered, very much alive earthworms before shoving said handful into his mouth. No one around the circle seemed all that disgusted. Like it was a regular Tuesday evening for them. Except for the man with the white face paint who seemed like he was as pale as a ghost underneath.

“I’ll, uh, that’s fine for this week, Boogeyman, but I’ll please ask you to leave your… worms at home next week. We’re not really supposed to have food in this room to keep it peanut-free,” Dr. Shelby explained, holding back the sick feeling knotting his stomach. “But if anyone is thirsty, I’ve got bottles of water and juice boxes on the back table. Feel free to help yourselves.”

Boogeyman nodded and carefully put his worms back into his bag as he sat down. The man with the white face paint immediately raised his hand.

“Yes, your name is…”

“I think I might be in the wrong place.”

Dr. Shelby looked him over. He didn’t look eerily normal like Bray, and he didn’t seem to have brought a bag of worms as a snack. Looked like he fell somewhere in between.

“You seem like you’re in the right place. This is Eldritch Horrors Anonymous; I don’t know where else you’d be tonight.”

The man’s expression changed from nerves to sheepish understanding. “I thought this was Troubled Goths Anonymous. I couldn’t find the flyer and followed Boogeyman in. My mistake.”

Dr. Shelby nodded understandingly. “Right room, wrong day. Troubled Goths Anonymous is Monday nights.”

The man stood to leave with his hands up apologetically. “It was great to meet you all, but I don’t belong here. Best of luck to you… eldritch horrors.”

“Oh, be careful when you come back on Monday. That’s also when they host Troubled Punks Anonymous. Very similar groups, but people seem to have very strong preferences of one over the other.”

The man nodded and left the room as Dr. Shelby turned back to the remaining members. “Some of you came here from those groups, right?”

“Troubled Punks Anonymous kicked me out a few days ago,” Bray sighed, his perpetual smile dropping for a moment. Everyone murmured their sympathy and Alexa patted him on the knee. “It’s alright, though," he continued. "You all seem like a much better fit so far.”

“That’s the point of this group,” Dr. Shelby smiled. “Now who’s next?”

The man in the leather jacket looked towards the man in the mask before shrugging and standing.

“M’name’s Finn. Sometimes the rage o’ battle brings out the Demon King Bálor from within me ‘n with the openin’ o’ his great eye, enemies are laid to waste a’ his feet,” he explained, about as casually as one would talk about what they did over the weekend.

“Glad to have you here, Finn.” It was getting easier to digest the stories of the people around him as he heard more. Maybe he’d even be able to hear the last one without faking the comfort of his smile. “And last, but certainly not least…” He turned towards the masked man expectedly. There was no smile, polite or otherwise. But he also didn’t seem like he was hesitating because he was shy. Just… grumpy.

“You don’t have to introduce yourself if you don’t feel comfortable, but we’re still a small group and as far as I can tell, all very friendly,” Dr. Shelby pushed a little further. The other members nodded in agreement. Even Boogeyman, who had snuck another worm from his bag into his mouth.

“Fine,” he grumbled, standing up. “I’m Kane. I’m the devil’s favorite demon. I grew up in a basement, suffering severe psychological and emotional scarring when my brother set my parents on fire. From there, I shifted around a series of mental institutions until I was grown, at which point I buried my brother alive... twice. Since then, I’ve set a couple of people on fire and abducted various co-workers. Oh, and I once electrocuted a man’s testicles. Years ago, I had a girlfriend named Katie, but let’s just say that didn’t turn out so well. My real father is a man named Paul Bearer who I recently trapped in a meat locker. I’ve been married, divorced, broke up my ex wife’s wedding and attacked the priest and for reasons never quite explained, I have an unhealthy obsession with torturing Pete Rose.”

Okay, maybe they can get weirder.

“Thank you… Kane.” He paused a moment before remembering back to the list that he’d been given a few days before. “That name sounds familiar; I think I was told to expect you, but they said you might be coming with your brother.”

“Probably won’t happen.”

“Why not? Is he not an eldritch horror?”

“He is. He just won’t come. Has better things to do.”

“Like what?”

“He said ‘watching paint dry’.”

“Maybe when you see him again, you can tell him we’re more fun than watching paint dry,” Alexa suggested, bouncing Lilly on her lap.

“That’s right. And that goes for all of you,” Dr. Shelby mentioned. “If anyone knows someone who might need a support group like this, go ahead and invite them. This isn’t Fight Club; it doesn’t have to be secret.”

The group chuckled a little at his attempt at a joke. Even Kane cracked a small smile.

Dr. Shelby relaxed a little in his seat. These people might dress strangely and have bizarre interests, diets and backstories, but deep down, they were just like anyone else. Maybe he could help them after all.

#WWE #Alexa Bliss #Bray Wyatt #Boogeyman #Finn Balor #Sting #Kane #Writing #This was a fun experiment and if people want more I can be easily convinced

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usaginotwst · 3 years ago

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Hello are the requests open currently?? If so, I would like to request 💛 💎 💋 for Trey, Lilia and Jade, thank youu so so so so muchh. Hope you have a nice dayyy 🥰

You're so polite! I apologize for the wait, but of course ❤️ Excellent choices, coming right up, sugar!

There are mentions of being intimate in here, so I would say this ask is rated T+

💛— How do they say good morning?

With sleep still in his eyes, Trey will putter around in the kitchen until you come down and join him. Morning rays filter through the windows, highlighting the steam rolling off the fresh coffee he pours equally in two cups. With loving familiarity, Trey fixes your coffee the way you like it. The sounds of your footsteps nudge a groggy smile on his lips.

When you round the corner and enter the threshold, Trey ruffles your hair as he hands you the steaming cup.

"Good morning," He says. His words are full of care and appreciation, like it was a special treat to see only you this morning, even though this is the morning routine. Trey knows how to make you feel special through more mundane means, and that's how you know it's love.

Lilia knows you don't like his cooking, so unlike Trey, he will stay put in his bed. He was going to wrap the blankets around him to keep the oncoming sunlight from bothering him, that is until he hears the distinct sound of your huffing and puffing, which could only mean that you decided to take Jack and Vil up on their offer to run in the morning.

A smile stretches across his face as he jumps from the bed to reach his window ceil, deciding that he would surprise you as he tried to do each morning. Eagle eyes spot you immediately. You had lingered under a tree to catch your breath, waving the other boys to keep going without you for a bit. Without even needing to blink, Lilia is hanging upside down from the tree, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Good morning, love." Lilia says, startling you into turning around. Your shoulders relax when you can see it's only Lilia. Placing a hand over your beating heart, you sigh with endeared frustration.

"You've got to stop scaring me so early in the morning, you'll send me to an early grave," You mutter. Lilia's smile grew into a Cheshire smile as he honked out a laugh.

"It's proper manners to say it back, you know." He teased.

You roll your eyes but get closer, "Good morning, Lilia."

Swinging himself with his legs, Lilia closes the distance and plants a sweet kiss on your lips before allowing himself to swing back. "A good morning indeed."

I think that Jade would be like Lilia and want to surprise you in the mornings to see your reactions, but in a more lowkey fashion. Once he finished his morning routine, Jade would leave the Octavinelle dorms in search of you, usually finding you with your back turned in the middle of a conversation.

Jade would make his presence known by setting a hand on your lower back before leaning over and resting his head on your shoulder, planting a quick kiss to the side of your neck.

"Good morning," he coos. If you found yourself getting flustered and flushed from the attention, he would poke fun at your expense, but it wouldn't drag on for long.

💎— Do they like to tease?

You literally chose the three guys that are THE MOST WILLING to tease you, outside of Malleus.

Trey would be the platonic kind of teasing, almost like a best friend would. When you mess up at something menial, he would laugh at you directly before offering to help. In more intimate situations, Trey wouldn't tease you a bit because he would be more on the flustered side, allowing you to do all the teasing. Not a lazy lover, just unsure.

Jade is the type that likes to watch people struggle because it's funny, so he would make you specifically ask him for something and then tease you for being needy. When he's being more intimate he has to work up to teasing you.

When you kiss him with more fever, he blinks owlishly at you for far too long; studying you as a deep blush spreads from his chest upward. It takes a moment for a smile to reach his lips before turning into a smirk.

The very first time being intimate, Jade asked too many questions, wanting it to be right. He didn't miss your red cheeks or avoidant eyes as you answered each one, telling him what you want. It seemed to click then and there, so now, once in the swing of things, he would absolutely make you ask for anything you wanted just to fluster you.

"You have to use your words"

Lilia will tease you the same way a father would; by harmlessly embarrassing you in front of everyone until you're bright red. He also loves to come up behind you and spook you, blow air on the back of your neck among other various tactics to fluster you.

While intimate, Lilia's go-to is pretending he can't hear you. "Hmm, what was that? What did you want?"

💋— What are their kisses like?

Trey's kisses are comfortable, but never boring. His kisses you in greeting and in parting, when the feelings arise, and even just because he looked at you for too long and the feeling of love was so overwhelming he had to show you for fear of being choked by his own emotions. His kisses feel like home, but they didn't always. Your very first kiss was nervous. Without the stabilization of his hands cupping your cheeks, he all but headbutted you in a mess of lips and teeth. Trey apologized profusely, holding up his hands as he weakly explained that his palms were sweating so bad, he didn't want to put them anywhere near you for fear of making you uncomfortable. With some reassurance from you, there was a redo and suddenly he didn't seem to mind the pounding in his chest, choosing to focus solely on the feeling of your skin under the pads of his fingers.

Jade's kisses are refined. Not at first, though. I don't believe Jade interacts with people much, honestly. So the idea that he's a seasoned partner is very funny to me. I think that the first time he kissed you and saw the slight twitch in your brow as you tried not to grimace or laugh at his inexperience, he went out and did a lot of research. He read both human and merfolk romance novels, articles about interspecies couples, and everything in between.

The next time he kissed you, it felt like a completely different person. It felt practiced, perfected, and impersonal. You had to get the information out of him that he studied so hard and after suppressing a giggle, you kiss him slowly and reassure him that he never has to be perfect for you and reminded him that it's better to learn by practicing.

Lilia's kisses are deep, and I don't mean they are consistently passionate. Lilia is old, as he likes to remind you on the regular. He has seen legions rise and fall within The Valley of Thorns and his kisses hold all the emotions that come with age; fear, guilt, and ageless passion. That being said: any place, any time of day, Lilia can and will ambush you with a flurry of kisses. Cheeks, lips, neck. It doesn't matter, if you have skin exposed he will press his lips to it.

Lilia loves these quick displays of affection, but when he's able to truly lower his guard and kiss you slowly, he allows the world to melt away around him. No longer is he Lilia the guardian, Lilia the caretaker, nor Lilia the soldier. He is Lilia Vanrouge, man, fae, and your love. When he pulls away, his eyes open to reveal the hurt of thousands of years of loss and predictions of future hurts. He cards his fingers through your hair and kisses a strand before tucking it behind your ear.

#twst hcs #twisted wonderland #twst #lilia vanrouge #jade leech #trey clover #headcanons #my writing #asks #twst headcanons

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